LI  B  ERT  Y 

r* 


Myra  Kelly 


#*  -• 


IN  MEMORIAM 


3864-5941 


V 


f  </ 


WARDS  OF   LIBERTY 

BY 

MYRA    KELLY 

Author  of  Little  Citizens 


ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    FREDERIC    DORR    STEELE 

NEW    YORK 

THE    MCCLURE    COMPANY 
MCMVII 


Copyright,  1907,  by  The  McClure  Company 
Published,  October,  1907 


REPLACING 


IN  MEMOR1AM 


Copyright,  1906,  1907.  by  The  S.  S.  McClure  Company 


TO 

THE  MEMORY  OF 
A    LITTLE    CHILD 


FOREWORD 

I  HAVE  often  been  asked  how,  now  that  I 
have  left  the  East  Side,  I  find  my  material 
for  stories  of  life  in  that  quarter.  In  publish 
ing  this  second  collection  of  tales  about 
"  Little  Citizens,"  I  welcome  the  opportunity 
to  answer  this  question,  since  it  enables  me 
to  speak  directly  to  all  my  readers,  whose 
interest  in  my  work,  so  often  and  so  gen 
erously  expressed,  has  meant  much  to  me. 
Of  course,  although  I  am  no  longer  a  teach 
er,  I  have  by  no  means  severed  all  connec 
tion  with  the  East  Side.  I  frequently  go 
back  to  visit  my  friends  of  the  Ghetto,  who 
have  not,  I  am  grateful  to  say,  altogether 
[vii] 


M141461 


FOREWORD 

forgotten  me  if  I  may  judge  by  the  letters  I 
occasionally  receive  from  Morris  Mogilew- 
sky,  Sadie  Gonorowsky,  and  their  associates. 
Other  friends,  in  the  schools  or  not,  write  me 
incidents  and  keep  me  posted  concerning 
events  which  they  know  will  be  of  interest  to 
me.  And  I  still  have  a  store  of  note-books 
and  of  memories. 

I  think  no  one  can  come  in  contact  with 
these  people — really  try  to  know  them;  to 
understand  their  difficulties  and  their  strug 
gles;  their  sufferings  and  their  patience— 
without  remembering  all  their  lives  long. 
These  impressions  do  not  fade.  Rather, 
they  grow  clearer  and  deeper  as  one  learns 
more  about  other  lives.  But  the  deepest  can 
never  be  written  out  by  one  of  an  alien  race. 
The  lives  being  lived  in  those  crowded 
streets  are  so  diverse,  so  different  in  end  and 
[  viii  ] 


FOREWORD 

in  aim  that  no  mere  observer  can  hope  to  see 
more  than  an  insignificant  vista  of  the  whole 
seething,  swarming  mass  of  hope,  disillusion, 
growth,  and  decay. 

The  opening  through  which  I  saw  my 
vista  was  the  school-room.  I  taught  these 
babies  and  I  loved  them.  The  larger 
problems  of  maturity  passed  far  from  Room 
8,  but  their  shadow  crossed  its  sunshine. 
This  was  inevitable  in  a  community  where 
all  the  life  of  a  family,  eating,  sleeping, 
cooking,  working,  illness,  death,  birth,  and 
prayer  is  often  crowded  into  one  small  room. 

I  am  frequently  asked  whether  I  was  not 
myself  the  model  from  which  Constance 
Bailey  was  drawn.  I  admit  regretfully  that 
I  was  not.  "  What  I  aspired  to  be  and  was 
not"  Constance  Bailey  was.  Only  her  mis 
takes  are  mine  and  her  very  earnest  effort  to 
[be] 


FOREWORD 

set  the  feet  of  the  First  Reader  Class  firmly 
in  the  path  which  leads  "  through  the  years, 
maybe,"  as  Mrs.  Mogilewsky  used  to  say,  to 
American  Citizenship. 

The  other  characters  in  these  pages  are  as 
real  and  unadorned  as  words  of  mine  could 
leave  them.  If  I  have  even  to  a  degree  suc 
ceeded  in  making  others  see  what  I  have 
seen  I  shall  have  contributed  something  to 
the  quickening  of  intelligent  interest  in  the 
poor  and  unfortunate  of  an  alien  race  which 
is  crowding  into  our  great  cities  until  whole 
districts  turn  foreign,  squalid  and  over 
crowded  with  a  rapidity  beyond  all  belief. 
For  the  newly  arrived  Jew  must  go  to  the 
Ghetto.  Only  there  shall  he  find  his  lan 
guage  understood,  only  there  shall  he  find 
his  orthodox  synagogue  and  the  food  pre 
scribed  by  his  religion,  only  there  shall  he 
[x] 


FOREWORD 

find    work    for    his    unskilled,    untrained 
hands. 

I  find  great  pleasure  and  reward  in  the 
testimony,  which  those  most  qualified  by  in 
timate  knowledge  and  wide  experience  to 
pass  judgment  upon  them,  have  borne  to  the 
essential  truth  of  these  stories.  In  this  con 
nection  I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  present, 
with  the  writer's  permission,  the  following 
letter  from  one  whose  position  as  the  head  of 
this  nation  does  not  prevent  him  from  taking 
the  same  interest  in  the  problems  of  his  own 
municipality  as  when  he  was  locally  con 
cerned  in  the  regulation  of  its  affairs.  No 
one  knows  better  than  the  President  how 
deeply  the  problems  of  a  city  are  those  of  the 
nation  itself  and  how  tremendous  a  trust  has 
been  committed  to  it  in  making  it  the 
"Mother  of  the  Wards  of  Liberty." 
[xi] 


FOREWORD 

OYSTER  BAY,  N.  Y. 
July  26,  1905. 

MY  DEAR  Miss  KELLY  : 

Mrs.  Roosevelt  and  I  and  most  of  the  chil 
dren  know  your  very  amusing  and  very  pa 
thetic  accounts  of  East  Side  school-children 
almost  by  heart,  and  I  really  think  you  must 
let  me  write  and  thank  you  for  them.  While 
I  was  Police  Commissioner  I  quite  often 
went  to  the  Houston  Street  public  school  and 
was  immensely  interested  and  impressed  by 
what  I  saw  there.  I  thought  there  were  a 
good  many  Miss  Bailies  there,  and  the  work 
they  were  doing  among  their  scholars  (who 
were  so  largely  of  Russian- Jewish  parentage, 
like  the  children  you  write  of)  was  very  much 
like  what  your  Miss  Bailey  has  done. 

Now,  a  word  of  preaching,  not  to  Miss 

Kelly  but  to  Miss  Bailey.     The  scrape  into 

which    Miss    Bailey   got   by   following   too 

closely  Messrs.  Froebel  and  Pestalozzi  (and 

[xii] 


FOREWORD 

these  eminent  men,  like  most  other  human 
beings,  diluted  their  good  work  with  bad 
work)  was  because  of  not  seeing,  and 
therefore  not  telling,  the  plain,  wholesome 
truth.  To  try  to  teach  her  pupils  that  there 
should  never  be  any  appeal  to  force,  when 
they  lived  under  conditions  which  meant 
reversion  to  the  primitive  cave  man  if  it  were 
not  for  the  continually  exercised  ability  of 
the  father  of  Patrick  Brennan  to  cope  with 
the  Uncle  Abys,  amounted  merely  to  the 
effort  to  give  them  ideals  which  would  not 
work  for  one  moment  when  they  got  outside 
of  the  school-room,  and  I  think  it  is  an  abom 
ination  to  teach  people  ideals  that  will  not 
work,  because,  instead  of  understanding  as 
they  ought  to  that  it  is  only  false  ideals  which 
do  not  work,  they  in  such  cases  generally 
jump  to  the  conclusion  that  no  ideals  at  all 
will  work.  Teach  them  that  the  wrong  is 
not  in  fighting,  but  in  fighting  for  a  wrong 
[xiii] 


FOREWORD 

cause  or  without  full  and  adequate  cause, 
and  you  teach  them  what  is  true  and  right 
and  what  they  can  act  up  to.  But  teach 
them  that  all  fighting  is  wrong,  that  the  wars 
of  Washington  and  Napoleon  are  of  the  same 
stamp;  that  Lincoln  and  Attila  are  on  the 
same  ethical  level,  and  the  result  is  either 
vicious  or  nil.  If  Miss  Bailey's  "steady," 
the  Doctor,  would  not  knock  down  a  man 
who  had  insulted  her,  I  would  have  a  mighty 
poor  opinion  of  him ;  but  if  he  were  brutal  to 
the  weak,  or  a  bully,  or  a  tyrant,  I  would 
have  an  even  worse  opinion  of  him. 

There!     I  suppose  I  have  been  preaching 
again,  when  I  only  meant  to  write  a  word  of 
thanks  and  appreciation. 
Sincerely  yours, 

THEODORE  ROOSEVELT." 

This    letter   refers    to    the   story   entitled 
"In  Loco  Parentis,"  which  I  have  placed 
[xiv] 


FOREWORD 

first  in  this  collection.  Pedagogically  con 
sidered  that  story  is  atheism.  So,  I  fear, 
is  "A  Soul  Above  Buttons,"  and  "The 
Gifts  of  the  Philosophers,"  is  entirely  with 
out  the  pale.  But  Emile  is  educated — and 
dead.  "The  Child"  has  passed  away  or 
has  lost  its  "tabula  rasa,"  while  Yetta 
Aaronsohn  comes  to  school  to  learn  "the 
style,"  and  the  Boss  has  no  time  "  to  fool 
with  his  arms  and  legs." 

MYRA  KELLY. 

OLDCHESTER,  NEW  JERSEY, 
October,  1907. 


[xv] 


CONTENTS 
IP 

PAGE 

FOREWORD vii 

IN  Loco  PARENTIS 3 

A  SOUL  ABOVE  BUTTONS     ....  49 

THE  SLAUGHTER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS  91 

A  PERJURED  SANTA  GLAUS      .     .     .  137 

LITTLE  BO-PEEP 177 

THE  WILES  OF  THE  WOOER     .     .     .  213 

THE  GIFTS  OF  THE  PHILOSOPHERS  .  255 

STAR  OF  BETHLEHEM      ...          .  285 


IN  LOCO    PARENTIS 


IN     LOCO      PARENTIS 

Cinderella  had  a  Fairy- Godmother;  Aladdin 
had  a  Wonderful  Lamp;  Isidore  Belchatosky 
had  an  Uncle  Abraham.  Uncle  Abraham 
combined  the  power  of  the  genii  with  the 
complaisance  of  the  godmother,  and  was  fur 
ther  distinguished  by  a  settled  place  of  resi 
dence  and  a  distracting  generosity  of  cast- 
off  clothes.  The  more  purely  mythical  per 
sonages,  with  accounts  of  whose  beneficence 
Miss  Bailey  was  wont  to  entertain  her  charges, 
were  not  entirely  convincing.  Giants,  genii, 
fairies,  conversational  animals  might  or  might 
not  be;  but  who  could  question  the  existence 
of  Isidore's  Uncle  Abraham  ?  Excerpts  of 
[3] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

his  views  upon  men  and 
events  adorned  Isidore  Bel- 
chatosky's  conversation  and 
examples  of  his  taste  in 
"gents'  furnishings"  adorned 
Isidore  Belchatosky's  per 
son. 

The  speckled  vest  which 
shrouded  Isidore's  form  had  once  belonged 
to  Uncle  Abey.  It  was  crossed  by  a  steel 
watch  chain,  the  gift  of  Uncle  Abey.  Its 
pocket  waited  —  open-mouthed  —  for  a  fat 
and  noisy  watch,  promised  by  Uncle  Abey. 
The  bold  plaid  trousers  which  reached  from 
Isidore's  ankles  to  his  armpits,  and  showed 
so  pleasingly  through  the  opening  of  the 
speckled  vest,  had  but  lately  graced  the  limbs 
of  Uncle  Abey. 

"These  is  nicer  nor  that  velvet  suit  you 
[4] 


IN     LOCO     PARENTIS 

used  to  wear,"  said  Patrick  Brennan  judic 
iously.  "Them  was  sissy  clothes." 

"These  is  fer  mans  suits,"  Isidore  proudly 
informed  him.  "I  gets  'em  from  off  of  mine 
Uncle  Abey.  The  lady  by  our  floor  she  makes 
pants  fer  her  little  boy  mit  the  legs,  und  I 
puts  me  on  mit  the  rest." 

"Your  uncle  could  to  be  awful  big,"  com 
mented  Morris  Mogi- 
lewsky. 

"Sure  is  he  big." 

"Is  he  high?" 

"Sure  is  he  high. 
Like   a  house  is    he 

high.- 

"Und  fat?" 
"He  is  fat   like 
blocks  from  houses." 
"Did  you   ever," 

[5] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

asked   Patrick,   "see  Father  Burke  over  to 
St.  Mary's  ?  Is  your  uncle  as  fat  as  him  ?" 

"Fatter,"  Isidore  maintained.  "Say,  you 
open  me  the  back  of  this  waist  und  I  shows 
you  how  is  mine  uncle  fat." 

Morris  undid  the  buckle;  Isidore  removed 
safety-pins  and  shook  out  reefs  until  the 
vest  hung,  in  voluminous  folds,  to  its  ex 
tinguished  wearer's  knees. 

"Fill  it  up  from  coats,"  he  commanded, 
"und  you  could  to  see  how  is  mine  Uncle 
Abey  fat." 

It  was  recess  time.  The  yard  was  swarm 
ing  with  little  boys,  and  the  discrepancy  in 
girth  between  Isidore  and  his  uncle  was  soon 
overcome.  Coats,  caps,  mufflers,  even  lunch 
eons,  were  pressed  into  service,  until  Isidore, 
looking  like  the  most  backward  tilted  of 
pouter  pigeons,  turned  to  Patrick. 
[6] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

"Mine  uncle  is  fat  like  that,"  said  he.  "I 
guess  nobody  in  that  world  could  to  be  fat 
how  mine  Uncle  Abey  is." 

"You  lie,"  cried  Patrick  Brennan.  "No 
sheeny  could  be  as  fat  as  a  priest." 

"You  lie,"  retorted  Isidore;  "mine  Uncle 
Abey  is." 

Whereupon  they  fought.  It  was  a  little 
unfortunate  that  the  bell  should  have  rung 
just  then  and  that  the  owners  of  Isidore's 
embonpoint  should  have  forcibly  and  hurried 
ly  reclaimed  it.  For  Patrick's  science  was 
upset  by  the  alarming  shrinkage  of  his  op 
ponent  while  Isidore's  aim  and  nerve  were 
disturbed  by  frequent,  even  by  simultaneous, 
tugs  at  his  person.  The  relative  avoirdupois 
of  priest  and  Levite  was  still  undetermined 
when  a  large  monitor  dragged  the  kick 
ing  combatants  to  Room  18  and  delivered 

[8] 


IN    LOCO     PARENTIS 

them  to  Miss  Bailey,  their  long-suffering 
teacher. 

"Mine  uncle  is  fatter,"  Isidore  persisted, 
even  when  Miss  Bailey  had  consigned  him  to 
the  corner  near  the  book-case.  "He's  fat- 
ter'n  blocks  from  houses  und  bunches  from 
priests." 

"Then  why  don't  he  come  round  ?"  taunt 
ed  Patrick  from  durance  vile  under  the  desk. 
"Why  don't  he  never  come  round?" 

"He's  comin',"  said  Isidore,  who  knew 
that  he  was  lying. 

;<  You  lie,"  said  Patrick,  who  guessed  it. 

"Say,  Teacher,"  cried  Eva  Gonorowsky, 
in  whose  care  —  for  their  greater  debasement 
-these  two  rivals  for  her  favor  had  been 
placed.  "Teacher,  Missis  Bailey,  Patrick 
und  Izzie  begins  mit  themselves  some  more. 
They  says  they  lies." 

[9] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

"He  is  comin',"  Isidore  maintained. 

And,  strangely  enough,  he  did  emerge 
from  the  invisibility  which  had  held  him. 
Isidore's  youth  was  leaving  him.  His  seventh 
birthday  was  even  then  approaching,  and 
Uncle  Abraham  craved  —  by  formal  note  - 
Miss  Bailey's  permission  to  mark  the  flight 
of  time  by  giving  a  party  to  the  First  Reader 
Class.  The  Principal  was  consulted;  stipu 
lated  only  that  the  celebration  should  take 
place  after  school  hours ;  and  Uncle  Abraham 
was  informed  --by  formal  note  —  that  Room 
18  would  be  at  his  hospitable  service  at  a 
quarter  after  three  upon  the  anniversary  of 
Isidore's  nativity. 

There  never  had  been  a  more  successful 
party.    The   guests    all   knew   one    another; 
there  was  neither  embarrassment  nor  con 
straint;  and  the  host,  who  arrived  at  the  ap- 
[10] 


IN     LOCO     PARENTIS 

pointed  hour  in  gleaming  raiment  and  great 
heat,  was  observed  by  all  observers  to  be  a 
man  of  wealth  and  of  importance.  Also  the 
refreshment  promised  well.  It  was  contained 


"  'It's  hoky  poky,'  pronounced  Sarah  Schodsky,  whose  word  upon 
all  social  matters  was  law  and  final " 

in  three  dirty,  moist,  and  enticing  pails  and 
several  cardboard  boxes.  There  was  much 
pink  string  and  a  suggestion  of  festivity 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

about  them,  and  the  First  Reader  Class  was 
properly  impressed. 

"It's  hoky  poky,"  pronounced  Sarah 
Schodsky,  whose  word  upon  all  social  matters 
was  law  and  final.  "It's  hoky  poky.  A  man 
by  our  block  he  sells  it.  You  gets  a  awful 
little  bit  fer  a  penny.  I  seen  how  Ikey  Bor- 
rachsohn  buys  some  once." 

"  Cake  costs  money,  too,  und  candy,"  said 
Isidore.  "On'y  mine  uncle  he  don't  care. 
He's  got  lots.  He's  got  kind  feelin's  over  me, 
too,  und  so  he  makes  a  party  over  mine  birth 
day.  Say,  he's  awful  rich." 

"He's  stylish,  too,"  said  Eva.  "Ain't  you 
seen  how  he  makes  all  things  what  is  polite 
mit  Teacher  ?  I  never  in  my  world  seen  how 
he  is  polite." 

Neither  had  Miss  Bailey.  She  was  rather 
at  a  loss  as  to  the  means  of  entertaining  so 
[12] 


IN      LOCO      PARENTIS 

very  impressive  a  guest  and  the  easy  formal 
ity  of  his  manner  took  her  entirely  by  sur 
prise.  When,  however,  they  had  discussed 
Isidore's  virtues  and  had  together  minister 
ed  to  the  fifty-six  assembled  and  clamoring 
appetites  she  found  herself  beginning  to  un 
derstand  the  admiration  in  which  Isidore  held 
this  precious  relative.  There  was  a  dexterity 
in  the  turn  of  his  wrist,  a  finish  and  precision 
about  all  he  did,  that  seemed  to  promise 
great  capacity,  and  the  tender  pride  which 
shone  in  his  eyes  when  he  looked  at  or  spoke 
of  his  small  nephew  showed  that  Isidore's 
love  was  not  lavished  in  vain. 

When  the  more  carnal  wants  of  the  First 
Reader  Class  had  been  satisfied  Uncle  Abey 
turned  his  attention  to  the  spirit. 

"Will  you  let  them  sing?"  he  asked,  and 
they  sang  selections  from  the  class  repertoire. 
[13] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

Gradually  the  control  of  events  passed  from 
Miss  Bailey's  hands  into  Uncle  Abey's,  until 
Teacher  sat  at  her  own  desk,  the  guest  of 
Uncle  Abraham,  while  he  marshaled  her  own 
charges  for  her  entertainment. 

Under  the  spell  of  his  persuasiveness  the 
dazed  Miss  Bailey,  who  had  delved  in  mem 
ory  and  music  books  for  songs  sufficiently 
simple  to  be  learned  and  understood  by  her 
small  people,  listened  to  Sadie  Gonorowsky's 
polished  rendering  of  "Hello,  Central,  Give 
me  Heaven,"  to  Patrick  Brennan's  recita 
tion  of  "Kelly  at  the  Bat,"  to  Morris  Mogi- 
lewsky's  interpretation  of  the  classic,  "She 
May  Have  Seen  Better  Days."  At  one  stage 
of  the  symposium  Uncle  Abraham  made  a 
speech  which,  though  it  began  with  Isidore, 
soon  wandered  over  to  Miss  Bailey  and 
stayed  there.  Other  songs  and  recitations 
[14] 


IN      LOCO      P  A  R  E  N  T I S 

followed,  all  well  received,  but  perhaps  the 
most  popular  number  of  the  program  was 


"  Morris  Mogilcwsky's  interpretation  of  the  classic :  '  She  May 
Have  Seen  Better  Days '  " 

Eva  Gonorowsky's  singing,  with  appropriate 
gestures,  of  "The  Hotel  Windsor  Fire."  The 

[15] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

audience  was  hanging  spellbound  upon  the 
voice  of  Yetta  Aaronsohn  when  Teacher 
rose  suddenly  and  announced  that  it  was  time 
to  say  good-bye.  One  verse  of  Yetta's  selec 
tion,  whose  refrain  was  "She's  More  to  be 
Pitied  than  Censured,"  had  been  quite  enough 
for  Miss  Bailey. 

As  Isidore,  still  miles  from  the  ground  of 
common  things,  was  being  led  home  by  a 
proud  uncle,  that  relative  turned  to  him  and 
demanded : 

"Who  is  that  teacher  what  you've  got?" 

"That's  Missis  Bailey.  Ain't  she  a  nice 
teacher  ?" 

"Nice!"  repeated  Uncle  Abey.  "She's 
fine.  All  silk  and  a  yard  wide." 

"Missis  Blake  is  wider,"  Isidore  was 
forced  to  admit,  "but  Missis  Bailey  is  nicer. 
Ain't  I  tell  you  from  long  how  she  says  all 
[16] 


1  Nice  I '  repeated  Uncle  Abey.  '  She  's  /me. 
All  silk  and  a  yard  wide'  " 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

things  what  is  nice  over  them  clothes  what 

you  gives  me." 

"  I've  got  some  more  for  you,"  announced 

the  uncle.   "You  wear  'em  to-morrow  and 

tell  her  where  you  got 
'em." 

On  the  next  morn 
ing  Isidore,  in  in 
credible  grandeur, 
presented  Miss  Bailey 
with  a  large  magenta 
photograph  album 
and  Uncle  Abraham's 
regards.  And  in  the 

-A  large  magenta  photograph    first  enwreathed  aper- 

album   and    Uncle    Abraham's  »  .    .  ,1 

regards »  ture  for  pictures  there 

was  a  polished  and  edited  version  of  Uncle 
Abraham's   most  bland   expression.  Decor 
ously  but  sadly  Miss  Bailey  returned  the  gift. 
[18] 


IN      LOCO      PARENTIS 

In  the  afternoon  Isidore,  with  his  morn 
ing's  glory  still  upon  him  and  a  large  and 
inflexible  four-in-hand  necktie  added  there 
unto,  presented  Miss  Bailey  with  a  pair  of 
impressive  earrings  dangling  on  a  card.  De 
corously  also,  and  sadly  too,  Miss  Bailey 
returned  them. 

Uncle  Abraham,  surprised  but  not  dis 
couraged,  made  other  attempts  to  guess 
Miss  Bailey's  taste  in  jewelry  and  love  tokens, 
until  Isidore  would  have  been,  at  almost 
any  time,  worthy  of  the  attention  of  the 
Clinton  Street  gang.  For  always  on  his  way 
to  school  he  bore  gifts  proffered  by  Uncle 
Abraham,  and  always  on  his  way  from  school 
he  bore  gifts  rejected  by  Miss  Bailey.  And 
then  Teacher  wrote  a  short,  polite,  but  clear 
statement  of  her  wishes.  She  would  allow 
Uncle  Abraham  to  do  as  many  kind  and 
[19] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

gracious  things  as  he  might  choose  for  the 
First  Reader  Class,  but  his  generosity  could 
not  extend  to  its  teacher.  His  nephew's 
classmates  were  quite  ready  to  serve  as 
objects  of  his  beneficence.  His  nephew's 
teacher  was  not. 

Uncle  Abraham  pondered  heavily  over  this 
extraordinary  sentiment,  and  Isidore  watched 
his  cogitations  and  repented  that  he  had  been 
the  bearer  of  a  letter  which  seemed  to  be  dis 
tressing  to  the  kindest  of  uncles  and  of  men. 

"Teacher  ain't  mad  ?"  Uncle  Abey  asked. 

"No.  She  has  kind  feelin's,"  Isidore  as 
sured  him.  "  All  times  she  says  what  is  polite 
over  that  party." 

"Then  why  don't  she  take  the  things  I 
send  her  ?  Why  don't  she  want  diamonds 
and  books  and  perfumery  ?" 

The  question  was  large,  but  Isidore  grap- 
[20] 


IN      LOCO      PARENTIS 

pled  with  it.  After  prayerful  and  long 
consideration  he  delivered  himself  of  the 
opinion : 

"I  guess,  maybe,  she's  hungry.  She  don't 
needs  she  should  wear  somethings ;  she  don't 
needs  she  should  look  on  somethings;  she 
don't  needs  even  she  should  smell  some 
things.  She  needs  she  should  eat." 

"Gott!"  said  Uncle  Abraham.  "That's 
fierce.  We'll  have  to  have  another  party 
right  away.  An'  I'll  have  ice-cream  and  cake 
for  you  kids,  but  for  her  I'll  have  something 
filling.  Don't  you  suppose  she  gets  enough 
to  eat  at  home  ?" 

"Well,"  said  Isidore,  "she  ain't  so  awful 
big  und  she  ain't  so  awful  fat.  She's  skinny. 
She  says  all  times  how  you  is  nice  und  fat. 
She  says  she  ain't  never  seen  no  clothes  what 
is  big  like  yours  is." 

[21] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

"Then  we'll  have  that  party  right  away," 
said  Uncle  Abraham. 

"But  I  ain't  got  no  more  birthdays," 
Isidore  objected.  "You  can't  have  a  party 
'out  no  birthday." 

"  She's  got  to  have  something  to  eat.  She's 
got  to  have  a  party.  You  ask  her  when  her 
birthday  is." 

Isidore  asked  and  crestfallenly  reported 
that  Teacher  would  remain  at  her  present 
years  until  July.  "Und  in  July  there  ain't 
no  school  und  in  the  school  there  ain't  no 
birthdays." 

"Gott!"  said  Uncle  Abraham  again.  "We 
can't  wait  till  July.  She  don't  look  healthy 
enough  to  last  that  long.  We'll  have  a  party 
without  a  birthday." 

But  a  party  for  no  reason  at  all  was,  Miss 
Bailey  informed  her  would-be  provider,  too 
[22] 


IN      LOCO      PARENTIS 

grave  an  infringement  of  class  routine  to  be 
permitted.  The  letter  went  on  to  say  that 
Room  18  was  very  grateful,  that  Miss  Bailey 
was  very  grateful,  and  that  she  deeply  re 
gretted  being  obliged  to  interfere  with  Mr. 
Abrahamowsky's  kind  intentions. 

Again  Uncle  Abraham  fell  to  pondering 
upon  the  eternally  incomprehensible  femi 
nine,  but  his  reflections  served  only  to  in 
crease  his  bewilderment.  Nor  were  Isidore's 
reports  cheering.  Whether  the  thought  were 
father  to  the  observation  or  whether  the  long 
confinement  and  insufficient  ventilation  were 
having  their  natural  effect  upon  Constance 
Bailey's  not  too  hardy  frame,  is  uncertain. 
But  certain  it  is  that  Isidore  met  his  uncle's 
constant  queries  with : 

"She  don't  looks  healthy.  She  is  awful 
white  on  the  face." 

[23] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

There  were  days  during  January  when 
Miss  Bailey  deserted  Room  18  and  a  substi 
tute  reigned  in  her  stead.  But  not  peacefully 
and  never  —  willingly  —  twice.  Then  would 
Isidore  report  to -his  anxious  uncle: 

"  We  didn't  haver no  teacher  to-day.  We  had 
a  substiteacher,  und  Patrick  Brennan  says 
cheek  on  her.  So-o-oh,  she  sends  him  on  the 
Principal's  office.  Patrick  had  a  awful  mad." 
"Where  is  Miss  Bailey?" 
"She's  sick.  Comes  a  from-doctor's  letter 
on  the  Principal.  He  comes  und  tells  us  how 
she  is  sick  und  Eva  Gonorowsky  she  cries 
over  it." 

"Too  bad,  too  bad,"  muttered  Uncle 
Abraham.  "A  roast  goose  would  fix  her  right 
up,  and  she  won't  have  it." 

"Not  'out  birthdays,"  Isidore  acquiesced. 
"  Und  I  had  mine  und  hers  don't  never  come." 
[24] 


IN     LOCO     PARENTIS 

But  Isidore  had  reckoned  without  George 
Washington.  His  birthday  was  neither  past 
nor  distant,  and  American  public  spirit  gave 
Uncle  Abraham  the  opportunity  which  he 
had  sought  and  even  attempted  to  manu 
facture.  Once  more  there  was  an  interchange 
of  letters  and  Mr.  Abrahamowsky  set  to 
work  to  design  and  order  a  repast  worthy  of 
the  occasion  —  festive  yet  nourishing.  Miss 
Bailey  meanwhile  devoted  much  energy  to 
that  "Training  in  Citizenship"  to  which 
February  with  its  Washington  and  Lincoln 
celebrations  is  so  eminently  suited.  She  found 
rather  surprising  historical  conceptions  abroad 
in  the  land  and  did  battle  with  them  to  the 
best  of  her  ability,  but  with  less  success  than 
had  rewarded  her  efforts  in  other  directions. 
A  large  picture  of  "The  Father  of  his  Coun 
try"  was  conspicuously  hung;  American 
[25] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

flags  were  draped  on  window  and  wall  and  the 
American  spirit  was  fostered  in  the  hearts  of 
these  newest  American  citizens. 

Stories  of  George  Washington  in  all  stages 
of  virtue  took  the  place  of  the  fairy  tales  with 
which  Miss  Bailey  had  been  wont  to  diversify 
the  afternoons.  The  First  Reader  Class 
listened  —  open-mouthed  —  to  accounts  of 
his  love  of  truth,  his  affection  for  his  mother, 
his  exploits  with  the  hatchet.  But  of  his 
middle  years,  of  the  wars  he  fought,  the  homes 
he  made  forever  desolate,  she  said  nothing. 
There  is  nothing  which  can  explain  this  part 
of  a  man's  work  to  a  child's  mind;  no  way  of 
correlating  the  war  of  the  Revolution  with  the 
Golden  Rule.  Of  his  later  days,  when  peace 
had  been  bought  so  dearly,  of  the  good  he 
did,  the  laws  he  made,  the  country  he  as 
sembled  out  of  chaos,  she  tried  to  give  these 


IN      LOCO      PARENTIS 

future  Americans  some  idea.  But  the  work 
was  hard  and  the  results  discouraging. 

Even  as  George  Washington  transcended 
Isidore  Belchatosky  in  fame  and  in  glory, 
so  did  Uncle  Abraham's  second  celebration 
transcend  his  first.  The  ice-cream  was  red 
and  white  and  blue.  So  were  the  cakes.  So 
were  the  ribbons,  presented  by  the  host, 
which  adorned  the  First  Reader  breast  and 
rose  and  fell  over  excited  First  Reader  hearts. 
Red,  white  and  blue  was  Uncle  Abraham's 
necktie,  his  vest,  his  handkerchief,  his  socks, 
and  the  solid  bouquet  which  he  presented, 
with  great  empressement  and  many  speeches, 
to  Miss  Bailey.  Patriotism  shone  through  him 
and  was  reflected  in  Isidore's  vest  —  lent  for 
the  occasion  and  to  be  returned  pure  and  un 
spotted  on  pain  of  instant  disinheritance  - 
of  blue  and  white  plaid  with  red  buttons. 
[27] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

Even  the  roast  goose  was  embedded  in  parti 
colored  paper  napkins,  and  when  Mr. 
Abrahamowsky  had  forced  it  upon  Miss 
Bailey's  puzzled  acceptance  he  felt  only 
chagrin  that  his  country  boasted  and  toasted 
but  one  relative.  He  would  have  gladly  made 
festivals  for  a  national  family  tree. 

Upon  this  occasion  everything  was  ar 
ranged,  orderly,  glaringly  American.  Even 
the  songs  and  recitations  were  selected,  re 
hearsed,  and  patriotic.  There  were  solos; 
there  was  a  grand  chorus  of  an  utterly  unin 
telligible  version  of  "My  Country  'tis  of 
Thee."  Patrick  Brennan  had  learned  from 
his  father  and  now  informed  the  First  Reader 
Class  —  and  Eva  Gonorowsky,  who  was  won 
derfully  edified  —  that  "  a  government  by  the 
people,  of  the  people,  and  for  the  people" 
would  do  the  people  a  lot  of  good.  Nathan 
[28] 


IN      LOCO      PARENTIS 

Spiderwitz  loudly,  but  somewhat  indistinctly, 
"swore  allegiance  to  his  flag  and  to  the  Re 
public  for  which  it  stands,"  etc. 

And  then  Uncle  Abraham  took  the  floor. 
This  speech  began  with  a  laudation  of  Miss 
Bailey,  and  it  was  not  until  he  had  effect 
ually  banished  the  "white  looks"  whose 
persistence  had  so  troubled  him  that  he  de 
voted  his  eloquence  to  "  the  day  we  celebrate." 
Teacher  had  forgotten  this  possibility,  else 
would  she  have  imparted  to  Mr.  Abraham- 
owsky  the  warning  against  presenting  "the 
war  thought"  to  the  mind  of  the  Child,  which 
Messrs.  Froebel  and  Pestalozzi  and  assorted 
professors  had  impressed  upon  her.  But  Uncle 
Abraham  waited  for  no  advice.  After  a  few 
introductory  remarks  he  asked  with  oratori 
cal  eloquence: 

"Who    was    George    Washington  ?"    and 
[29] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

every  hand  in  Room  18,  except  only  Miss 
Bailey's,  sprang  into  the  air.  He  had  not  ex 
pected  or  desired  an  answer,  but  it  was  thrust 
upon  him. 

"A  God  from  off  of  Krishts,"  answered 
Ignatius  Aloysius  Diamantstein.  "He's  got 
gold  buttons  und  a  horse." 

"I  seen  him  on  a  p'rade,"  cried  Morris 
Mogilewsky.  "Him  und  Cap.  Dreyfus  rides 
by  side  themselves.  George  Wash' ton  has 
awful  stylish  looks." 

"He  is  the  papa  off  of  the  country  where 
flowers  und  Fresh  Air  Funds  stands,"  sub 
mitted  Eva  Gonorowsky. 

"  He  has  two  birthdays,"  said  Isidore  Bel- 
chatosky  enviously.  "To-morrow  is  one  und 
Christmas  is  one.  It  could  to  be  awful  nice." 

"He  never  tells  no  lies,"  was  Sadie  Gon- 
orowsky's  contribution  to  the  fund  of  his- 
[30] 


IN      LOCO      PARENTIS 

toric  data.  "He  hooks  a  great  big  all  of 
cherries  from  off  of  his  papa's  push-cart. 
Und  sooner  his  papa  hollers  on  him  he  tells  it 
right  out  how  he  takes  'em  und  he  gives  'em 
back." 

"His  papa  gives  him  hacks,"  said  Isidore 
Belchatosky. 

"A  axe,"  corrected  Patrick  Brennan.  "Me 
pop  wouldn't  give  me  no  axe.  I  asked  him." 

Miss  Bailey  listened  in  dismay,  and,  while 
Mr.  Abrahamowsky  went  placidly  on  to  an 
swer  his  own  question,  she  determined  upon 
frequent  reviews  and  much  explanation.  Uncle 
Abey  began  with  the  secure  ground  of  Wash 
ington's  virtuous  youth  and  drew  ennobling 
morals  therefrom.  But  before  Teacher  could 
stem  his  eloquence  he  was  launched  upon  the 
war  thought,  and  the  eliminating  and  expur 
gating  of  weeks  was  undone.  He  swam 
[31] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

through  seas  of  blood.  He  cracked  his  hear 
er's  ears  with  cannon.  He  undermined  their 
nerves  with  cries  of  agony  and  death.  Miss 
Bailey  stopped  him  when  she  could  and 
trusted  that  the  First  Reader  Class  would 
understand  as  little  of  his  eloquence  as  they 
had  of  hers.  They  looked  absorbedly  inter 
ested,  but  that  they  always  did.  They  were 
eagerly  ready  to  answer  questions,  but  that, 
too,  they  always  were.  And  their  answers 
were,  as  always,  startling. 

This  habit  stood  Miss  Bailey  in  good  stead 
when  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  interrupt 
Mr.  Abrahamowsky  at  the  first  pause  in  his 
address.  He  was  describing  the  devotion 
of  the  soldiers,  their  suffering  and  their 
bravery.  "We  must  always  remember  what 
George  Washington,  the  Father  of  our 
Country,  did  for  our  country,"  he  charged  his 
[32] 


IN      LOCO      PARENTIS 

hearers,  "but  we  must  remember  too  that 
he  was  not  alone.  The  army  was  back  of 
him.  He  had  colonels  and  majors  and  cap 
tains  and  generals  and  soldiers  to  help  him. 
Always  remember  the  soldiers.  There  were 
thousands  and  thousands  of  soldiers.  And 
when  any  one  asks  you  who  made  your 
country  a  free  country,  you  must  say  '  George 
Washington  and-  '  Here  Uncle  Abraham 
paused  to  give  due  effect  to  the  next  word, 
and  the  First  Reader  Class,  feeling  itself 
challenged,  answered  as  one  man: 

"Cap.  Dreyfus." 

And  Uncle  Abraham's  astounded  silence 
was  Teacher's  opportunity. 

When  it  was  over  and  Room  18  was  emptied 
of  all  save  Teacher,  the  corps  of  monitors,  the 
roast  goose,  and  Isidore  Belchatosky,  the  lat 
ter  began  to  carry  out  his  uncle's  instructions : 
[33] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

"Parties  like  that  costs  whole  bunches  of 
money,"  he  remarked. 

"Indeed  they  do,"  Miss  Bailey  agreed.  "It 
was  a  beautiful  party,  a  beautiful,  beautiful 
party." 

"Whole  bunches  of  money  they  costs," 
continued  Isidore.  "But  mine  uncle  he  don't 
care,  he  likes  you  should  have  parties.  He  is 
got  kind  feelings  over  me,  und  you,  and 
George  Wash'ton.  He's  got  whole  bunches  of 
money,  too." 

"Surely  he  must  have.  Does  he  keep  a 
store  all  of  his  own  ?" 

"Noma'an." 

"Does  he  work  in  one  ?" 

"  Mine  uncle  ?  No  ma' an.  Mine  uncle  don't 
work.  He  plays." 

"  The  piano  ?  How  nice !  And  does  he  get 
all  his  money  for  that  ?" 
[34] 


IN      LOCO      PARENTIS 

"No  ma' an,  he  don't  plays  pianos." 
"At  the  theater,  then  ?  Is  he  an  actor  ?" 
"No  ma'an." 

"Well,  then,  what  does  he  play  ?" 
"He  don't  plays  nothings.  He  just  plays." 
"Did  you  ever  see  him  doing  it?"  asked 
the  puzzled  Miss  Bailey. 

"No  ma'an.  I  ain't  seen.  He  plays  by  night 
und  I  lays  then  on  mine  bed.  Comes  mans 
und  comes  ladies  und  plays  mit  mine  Uncle 
Abey.  They  gives  him  whole  bunches  of 
money  the  while  he  plays  mit  'em  so  nice." 

Miss  Bailey  and  Doctor  Ingraham  were 
discussing  things  and  events  some  evenings 
later  when  it  occurred  to  her  to  inquire: 

"Among  the  powers  with  which  you  come 
in  contact  at  Gouverneur  Hospital  did  you 
ever  meet  a  Mr.  Abraham  Abrahamowsky  ?  " 
[35] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

"No,"  said  the  doctor.  "But  'tis  a  sweet 
name.  What  is  he  ?" 

"A  rival  of  yours,"  she  laughed.  "He  lav 
ishes  gifts  of  price  —  jewelry  and  roast  geese 
-  upon  me,  and  ice-cream  upon  the  class." 

"Rich?" 

"Apparently.  He  supports  his  small  or 
phaned  nephew  who,  by  the  way,  adores  him." 

"Rather  decent  of  the  chap  to  work  for 
other  people's  children." 

"  But  according  to  the  nephew,  he  toils  not, 
neither  does  he  spin,  and  yet  Solomon  in  all 
his  glory  never  equaled  Abraham  in  his.  You 
never  saw  such  clothes." 

"Perhaps  he  makes  them." 

"No.  He  never  works.  'Just  plays,'  Isidore 
tells  me." 

"Acts?" 

"No.  I  suggested  that.  He  is  neither  an 
[36] 


IN      LOCO      PARENTIS 

actor  nor  a  musician.  The  nephew  reports: 
'Mans  und  ladies  they  comes  by  our  house 
by  nights  und  mine  uncle  he  plays  mit  them.' 
Now  what  do  you  suppose  that  means  ?  I 
can't  imagine." 

"I  can,"  said  the  doctor  grimly.  "Tell  me 
that  name  again." 

' '  Abraham  Abrahamo wsky . ' ' 

"And  the  address?  I  might  get  a  few 
fellows  together  some  night  and  go  to  play 
with  him." 

"  I  don't  remember.  I  shall  send  it  to  you." 

It  was  some  days  later  yet  that  Room  18 
was  deserted  by  its  Leader  of  the  Line.  At 
about  ten  o'clock  he  arrived,  attended  by  his 
mother  in  evident  haste  and  dishabille. 

"Patrick  wouldn't  come  late,  without  me," 
Mrs.  Brennan  explained.  "And  I  couldn't 
[37] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

get  him  ready  in  time.  We're  that  upset.  His 
father  was  brought  home  to  me  last  night, 
miss,  shot  in  the  leg." 

"  Mr.  Brennan  ?  I'm  ever  so  sorry.  He's 
not  badly  hurt,  I  hope." 

"No,  miss.  They  say  he'll  be  well  in  a 
couple  of  weeks." 

"But  how  did  it  happen  ?  Let  me  give  the 
children  something  to  do  while  we  are  talking. 
I  want  to  hear  all  about  it." 

"Well,"  Mrs.  Brennan  began,  when  the 
First  Reader  Class  had  been  supplied  with 
the  means  of  keeping  Satan  at  bay,  "it  was 
in  a  little  raid.  You  know,  miss,  that  there 
is  gambling  and  all  sorts  going  on  round 
about.  Sometimes  the  officers  can  do  some 
thing  —  shut  the  house  up  or  arrest  the  peo 
ple  in  'em.  Sometimes  they  can't;  friends 
higher  up,  you  know.  But  yesterday  one  of 
[38] 


IN     LOCO     PARENTIS 

the  young  doctors  in  Gouverneur  handed  in  a 
report  of  a  place.  Nobody  seemed  to  know 
the  man,  so  they  raided  his  joint  last  night. 
Me  husband  got  shot  when  the  man  got  ugly 
and  pulled  his  gun  on  the  officers.  But  they 
locked  him  up  an  he'll  get  a  nice  long  rest  on 
the  Island.  They'll  learn  him  not  to  shoot 
an  officer." 

When  Miss  Bailey  and  her  corps  of  moni 
tors  were  leaving  the  school  that  afternoon 
they  found  Isidore  Belchatosky,  who  had 
not  graced  Room  18  during  the  day,  in 
copious  tears  upon  the  big  steps.  He  was 
wonderfully  unkempt  and  bedraggled,  and 
Teacher  paused  an  appreciable  moment  be 
fore  she  sat  close  beside  him  and  gathered 
his  dejected  little  body  to  her. 

"What  is  it,  honey?"  she  crooned. 
"  What's  the  matter  with  the  poor  old  boy  ?  " 
[39] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

"Oh,  mine  uncle,"  wailed  Isidore,  "mine 
poor  uncle." 

"Your  Uncle  Abraham?" 
'Yiss  ma' an.  I  ain't  got  no  more  uncle, 
on'y  him.  I  ain't  got  no  mama  nor  no  papa 
nor  nothin'  on'y  mine  uncle,  und  now  they 
takes  him  away.  I  ain't  got  nobody.  The  lady 
by  our  floor  is  nice  on'y  I  ain't  lovin'  so  awful 
much  mit  her.  I  needs  mine  Uncle  Abey." 

"Poor  Izzie,"  cried  Eva  Gonorowsky,  and 
stooped  to  take  the  sufferer's  hand.  By  so 
doing  she  disclosed  the  sturdy  figure  of  her 
satellite,  Patrick  Brennan,  and  Isidore's 
grief  was  quickly  changed  to  wrath. 

"Think  shame  how  your  papa  makes  mit 
mine  uncle,"  he  raged.  "Mine  uncle  he 
don't  makes  nothing  mit  him  und  extra  he 
commences.  Anyway  mine  uncle  he  shoots 
him  mit  pistols  in  the  leg." 
[40] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

"Not  your  uncle,"  Miss  Bailey  corrected 
him.  "Patrick's  mother  came  to  see  me  this 
morning  and  told  me  about  poor  Mr.  Bren- 
nan.  But  it  was  not  your  uncle  who  shot 
him.  It  was  a  man  who  kept  —  well,  I 
can't  explain  the  kind  of  a  man  it  was.  But 
not  your  uncle." 

"It  was  mine  uncle,"  Isidore  maintained. 
"  I  lays  on  mine  bed  in  sleep  when  comes  a 
great  big  all  of  mans --your  fellow  was 
mit  — " 

"No,"  cried  Teacher;  "not  Doctor  In- 
graham!" 

"Teacher,  yiss  ma' an,  your  fellow." 

"Oh,  Isidore,  Isidore!"  wailed  Teacher, 
and  fell  to  crying  as  bitterly  as  the  boy. 
"It  is  all  my  fault  and  he  was  so  good  to 


us." 


Yiss  ma' an,  he  had  feelings.  He  makes 
[42] 


IN      LOCO      PARENTIS 

on  me  und  you  und  George  Wash'ton, 
parties.  He  is  kind  mans." 

"Huh!"  snorted  Patrick,  "he  shot  me 
pop." 

"'Cause  your  papa  was  rubberin'  round. 
Your  papa  is  awful  nosy.  He  comes  mit 
that  all  of  mans  und  they  takes  mine  uncle's 
chips  und  his  cards  und  a  table  what  he  had 
mit  turning  wheels.  Mine  poor  uncle  he 
feels  awful  bad,  und  your  papa  und  Teacher's 
fellow  they  says  cheek  on  him  on'y  he  don't 
says  nothings.  On'y  by  a  while  they  makes 
they  shall  take  where  mine  uncle's  money  is 
und  he  hits  a  man  --a  little  bit  of  man  --a 
hack.  Sooner  the  all  of  mans  they  hits 
mine  uncle  und  they  takes  his  money  und 
they  chases  him  around  und  they  holds 
the  mans  und  the  ladies  what  was  playin' 
mit  mine  uncle --the  ladies  they  hollers 
[43] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

somethin'  fierce.  So-o-oh  mine  uncle  he  takes 
his  shootin'  pistol  und  he  shoots  Patrick 
Brennan's  nosy  papa  in  the  leg." 

"That  was  very  wrong  of  him,"  said 
Teacher. 

"Ain't  George  Wash'ton  made  shoots 
mit  pistols  ?"  demanded  Isidore. 

"Yes,  he  did,"  admitted  Miss  Bailey. 

"Ain't  he  hit  a  great  big  all  of  mans? 
Und  ain't  they  made  him  presidents  over 
it  unds  papas  off  of  countries  where  flowers 
stands  und  birds  sings  ?" 

"Und  where  the  Fresh  Air  Fund  is,"  sup 
plemented  Eva. 

"  Well,  not  exactly  because  he  hit  so  many 
men.  And  besides  it  all  happened  long  and 
long  ago.  They  don't  make  presidents  that 
way  any  more." 

"Ain't  Teddy  Rosenfelt  hit  mans?  Und 
[44] 


IN      LOCO      PARENTIS 

ain't  they  made  him  presidents  over  it  ? 
On'y  that  ain't  how  they  makes  mit  mine 
uncle.  They  don't  makes  him  presidents  nor 
papas  neither.  They  takes  und  puts  some 
things  from  iron  on  his  hands  so  he  couldn't 
to  talk  even.  They  puts  him  in  a  wagon  und 
they  says  they  sends  him  over  the  water." 

"Where?"  asked  Teacher. 

"Over  the  water  where  Islands  is  und 
prisons  stands.  That's  how  they  makes  mit 
him  the  while  he  hits  somebody  mit  pistols. 
I  guess  they  don't  know  'bout  George  und 
Teddy.  They  makes  them  -  -  mine  uncle 
tells  you  how  they  makes  George  und  Teddy 
-  presidents  und  papas  over  it." 

"But  that  was  from  long,  Izzie,"  Eva  re 
minded  him. 

"And  altogether  different,"   added  Miss 
Bailey. 

[45] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

"  An'  me  pop  wasn't  there.  He'd 
'a  pinched  'em,"  said  Patrick. 

"Und  George  had  his  gang 
along,"  observed  Nathan  Spi- 
derwitz. 

"Und  Izzie,"  said  Morris  Mogilewsky, 
summing  the  matter  up,  "  George  Wash'ton 
he  ain't  hit  mans  in  legs  mit  shootin'  pistols 
'out  killin'  'em.  You  couldn't  to  be  presi 
dents  und  papas  over  that.  George  Wash' 
ton  he  kills  'em  all  bloody  und  dead.  He 
kills  bunches  of  tousens  of  mans.  Why  ain't 
your  uncle  kill  somebody  ?" 

"  He  hits  him  in  the  leg,"  reiterated  Isidore 
sadly. 

"But   he    ain't    killed    'em.    Und,    Izzie, 
sooner  you  ain't  killed  somebody  bloody  und 
dead,   you    couldnt   to  be    presidents   und 
papas  off  of  countries." 
[46] 


A  SOUL  ABOVE  BUTTONS 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 


HE  Boss  staggered  down  the 
cellar  steps  and  dropped  the 
pile  of  coats  from  his  small 
shoulder  to  the  floor.  The 
"boarders,"  for  a  breath's 
space,  ceased  from  sewing 
buttons  upon  other  coats  and  turned  expectant 
eyes  toward  their  employer,  their  landlord, 
their  gaoler,  and  their  only  source  of  news. 

But  he  brought  no  tidings  of  the  outer 
world  on  this  particular  afternoon.  He  had 
been  through  crowded  blocks  where  the  very 
air  was  full  of  war  and  murder  and  his  only 
report  was  the  banality: 
[49] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

"The  day  is  upon  me  wherein  I  must  go  to 
school." 

No  one  was  interested.  Even  the  mother  of 
the  Boss,  frying  fish  in  one  corner  of  the  cel 
lar,  was  busy  with  her  own  gloomy  preoccu 
pations  and  reached  her  son's  communica 
tion  only  after  a  long  delay.  Then  she  asked 
dully: 

"Why?" 

"For  learn  the  reading  and  the  writing  of 
the  English.  A  man  at  the  factory  where  I 
waited  for  my  turn  told  me  of  how  he  had 
learned  these  things  and  he  showed  me  the 
card  he  had  won  by  his  learning.  'It  is  from 
the  Union,'  he  told  me,  and  behold !  when  he 
stood  before  the  manager  he  received  gents' 
vests  for  the  finishing.  The  pay  is  good  for 
that  work.  So  when  my  turn  came  I,  too, 
asked  for  finishing  to  do.  But  the  manager 
[50] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

laughed.  'Are  you  of  the  Union  ?'  he  de 
manded,  'show  me  then  your  card!'  And 
I,  having  no  card,  received  only  buttons. 
For  such  a  card  I  shall  go  to  school. " 

On  the  next  morning  he  waited  upon  the 
Principal  of  the  nearest  Public  School  and 
proved  a  grievous  trial  to  that  long-suffering 
official.  The  Boss's  alert  and  well  formulat 
ed  knowledge  of  the  world  of  the  streets  was 
only  exceeded  by  his  blandly  abysmal  ignor 
ance  of  the  world  of  books.  And  it  was  after 
careful  deliberation  and  with  grave  misgiv 
ing  that  the  Principal  sent  for  the  roll-book 
of  the  First  Reader  Class  and  consigned  the 
newcomer  to  Miss  Bailey's  dominion. 

Teacher  welcomed  him  with  careful  pa 
tience  but  his  advent  created  something  akin 
to  a  riot  in  Room  18.  There  was  hardly  a 
child  within  its  walls  who  was  not  familiar 
[51] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

with  his  history  and  awed  by  his  proximity. 
They  all  knew  how  his  father  had  finished 
gents'  garments  and  his  own  tired  life  in  a 
cellar  under  Henry  Street,  and  how  the  son, 
having  learned  the  details  of  the  business  by 
acting  as  his  father's  messenger,  was  now  the 
successful  manager  of  that  dead  father's 
business.  They  knew  how  he  had  induced 
his  mother  to  work  for  him,  though  she  had 
at  first  preferred  —  sensibly  enough  —  to 
die.  How  he  had  then  impressed  a  half 
witted  sister  into  service,  had  acquired  an 
uncanny  dexterity  with  his  own  needle,  and 
had  lately  enlarged  his  establishment  to  in 
clude  three  broken-spirited  exiles  who  paid 
for  their  board  and  lodging  by  their  ceaseless 
labor. 

And  now  ne  had  come  to  their  school! 
Was  in  the  First  Reader  Class !  No  wonder 
[52] 


Eca  Ganorowsky 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

that  Eva  Gonorowsky 
tingled  with  excite 
ment  and  preened  the 
butterfly  bow  which 
threatened  her  right 
eye.  No  wonder  that 
Sarah  Schodsky,  Moni 
tor  of  Fashionable 
Intelligence,  broke 
through  all  restrictions,  and  the  belt  of 
her  apron,  in  her  eagerness  to  impart  these 
biographical  details  to  Miss  Bailey.  No  won 
der  that  Patrick  Brennan  pondered  how  far 
a  Leader  of  the  Line  might  safely  boss  a 
professional  Boss.  No  wonder  that  Morris 
Mogilewsky,  Monitor  of  Goldfish  and  of 
Manners,  was  obliged  to  call  Teacher's  atten 
tion  to  the  extent  to  which  the  "childrens 
longed  out  their  necks  und  rubbered." 
[53] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

The  Boss  cared  little  for  the  commotion  of 
which  he  was  the  cause.  His  red-lidded  eyes 
were  everywhere,  saw  everything,  but  found 
no  trace  of  the  "Cards  off  of  Unions"  of 
which  he  was  in  search.  Nothing  else  inter 
ested  him,  and  he  grew  uneasy  as  the  class  fell 
into  its  morning  routine.  An  interval  of 
Swedish  Exercises  prompted  him  to  remon 
strate. 

"  Say,  missus,  ain't  you  goin'  to  learn  us  to 
read  ?  I  ain't  got  no  time  to  fool  with  me  legs 


an'  arms.' 


"We  shall  have  reading  in  a  few  mo 
ments,"  Teacher  assured  him.  "Are  you  so 
fond  of  it?" 

"Don't  know  nothings  about  it,"  the  Boss 
answered.  "When  are  ye  goin'  to  quit  your 
f  oolin'  an'  learn  us  some  ? ' 

Teacher  turned  to  survey  her  newest 
[54] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

charge.  Stripped  of  his  authority  and  re 
moved  from  his  cellar,  the  Boss  was  only  a 
little  more  stunted  of  stature  and  crafty  of 


" '/  ain't  got  no  time  to  fool  with  me  legs  an'  arms  '  ' 

eye  than  his  nine  years  of  life  on  the  lower 

East  Side  of  New  York  entitled  him  to  be. 

[55] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

And  yet  his  criticism  impressed  itself  through 
Constance  Bailey's  armor  of  pedagogic 
self- righteousness  and  left  her  rather  at  a  loss. 

"We  shall  have  reading  in  a  few  mo 
ments,"  she  repeated.  "But  first  we  must  try 
a  little  arithmetic.  Wouldn't  you  like  that  ?" 
And  out  of  an  ignorance  as  great  as  his  ambi 
tion  he  answered  tentatively: 

"I'll  try  it.  But  I  comes  for  learn  readin' 
an'  writ  in'." 

He  didn't  like  arithmetic  at  all.  It  struck 
him  as  being  a  shade  more  inane  than  Swe 
dish  Exercises,  and  almost  as  bad  as  singing 
and  praying.  The  Boss  who  could  calculate, 
entirely  without  written  figures,  the  number 
of  boarders  necessary  to  make  his  business  a 
paying  one  and  the  number  of  hours  and 
dollars  he  could  allow  his  mother  to  devote 
to  domesticity,  the  Boss  who  had  already  es- 
[56] 


A  SOUL  ABOVE  BUTTONS 
timated  the  depressing  sum  which  the  vaga 
ries  of  the  official  Course  of  Study  had  thus 
far  cost  him,  listened  in  contemptuous 
amazement  to  the  problems  proposed  to  his 
consideration  by  this  Teacher's  words  and 
the  Boss's  thoughts  followed  one  another  in 
some  such  sequence  as : 

"  I  had  ten  dollars  and  I  spent  six  dollars 
for  a  dress  - 

"  Gee,  ain't  she  easy !" 

"Two  dollars  for  a  waist  - 

"For  her  size!  It  was  stealinV 

"Fifty  cents  for  a  belt  and  fifty  cents  for 
three  handkerchiefs.  Who  can  tell  me  how 
much  I  had  left?" 

"I  kin,"  said  the  Boss,  "but  that's  no 

way  to  do.  You'd  ought  to  count  your  change. 

An'  I  kin  tell  you,  too,  you  was  skinned  when 

you  paid  six  dollars  fer  that  dress.  I  ain't 

[57] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

seen  the  coat  but  I  kin  tell  by  the  skirt.  An' 
that  waist  ain't  worth  no  two  dollars.  I  could 
show  you  a  place  where  you'd  get  your 
money's  worth.  The  man  what  owns  half  of 
it  is  a  friend  of  mine. " 

But  before  he  had  arranged  details  he 
was  swept  into  silence  by  the  First  Reader 
Class's  divergent  estimates  of  Teacher's 
present  financial  standing. 

'You've  got  nineteen  dollars  left,"  cried 
the  optimistic  Eva  Gonorowsky,  while  Ig 
natius  Aloysius  Diamantstein,  with  a  pecu 
niary  pessimism  contracted  from  his  Irish 
stepmother,  shrieked  the  evil  tidings: 

'You're  dead  broke.  You  ain't  got  noth- 
in'  at  all." 

Finally  the  unashamed  Miss  Bailey  set 
her  extravagances  in  neat  figures  upon  the 
blackboard  and  the  Boss's  spirits  rose.  This 
[58] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

was  the  sort  of  thing  he  had  come  for.  This 
was  like  business.  And  he  marveled  much 
that  so  idiotic  a  shopper  could  be  "smart" 
enough  to  write  with  so  easy  a  grace. 

After  further  waiting  and  other  wilful 
waste  of  time  the  readers  were  at  last  dis 
tributed,  and  the  mouse-colored  head  of  the 
Boss,  which  might  have  been  sleeker  if  the 
latest  "boarder"  had  had  greater  skill  or  a 
sharper  pair  of  scissors,  was  buried  between 
the  pages  of  a  book.  A  half  hour  of  the  most 
desperate  mental  exertion  left  him  spent, 
hot-eyed,  gasping,  but  master  of  the  fact  that 
certain  black  marks  upon  a  wrhite  surface 
proclaimed  to  those  desiring  tickets  off  of 
Unions  that: 

"Baby's  eyes  are  blue.  Baby's  cheeks 
are  pink.  Baby  has  a  ball.  See  the  pretty 
ball." 

[59] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

Followed  days  of  ceaseless  effort  and 
nights  of  sleepy  toil.  Followed  headaches, 
hunger,  weariness.  But  followed,  too,  a  dim 
understanding  of  a  relationship  between  let 
ters  and  sounds.  This  Teacher  called  reading. 

Writing  he  found  even  more  difficult,  but 
here  Miss  Bailey  was  able  to  manage  some 
of  that  "correlation  with  the  environment" 
which  educators  preach.  While  more  frivo 
lous  First  Readers  wrote  of  flowers  and 
birds  and  babies,  the  Boss  stuck  tongue  in 
pallid  cheek  and  traced:  "Buttons  are 
round,"  "Pants  have  pockets,"  and  other 
legends  calculated  to  make  straight  the  way 
to  Cards  and  Unions. 

During  his  first  week  at  school  he  managed 
to  reimburse  himself  for  some  of  his  wasted 
hours.  On  the  afternoon  of  his  second  day 
he  spared  time  from  his  cellar  to  ask : 
[60] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

"Say,  Mrs.  Bailey,  did  you  spend  that 
other  dollar  yit  ?" 

'''What  dollar?"  asked  that  improvident 
young  woman. 

"The  dollar  you  had  left  over  when  you 
bought  that  waist  an'  suit." 

"No,  I'm  keeping  that,"  Miss  Bailey  in 
formed  him,  "to  buy  a  house  on  Fifth  Ave 


nue.' 


"Where  do  you  live  now?"  the  Boss  in 
quired,  and  Teacher  told  him  a  combination 
of  numbers  which  conveyed  nothing  to  his 
mind. 

"Alone?" 

"No,  with  my  family. " 

"An'  they  let  you  fool  round  down  here  all 
the  time  ?  Don't  they  need  you  home  ?" 

"Not  very  much.  They  don't  mind." 

"I  guess  not,"  the  Boss  acquiesced.  "I 
[61] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

guess  you  don't  help  much.  Your  hands 
don't  look  like  you  did.  Say,  do  you  get 
pay  fer  teachin'  ?" 

"Very  good  pay,"  she  answered  meekly, 
though  she  did  not  always  think  so. 

"Then  you'd  better  go  right  on  livin'  at 
home.  You  don't  want  to  buy  no  real  estate. 
You  stay  with  the  old  folks  an'  buy  a  hat 
with  that  dollar.  You'd  ought  to  have  a 
stylish  hat  to  wear  with  that  new  suit. " 

"But  a  dollar  seems  so  much  for  just  one 
hat,"  Miss  Bailey  objected.  "A  whole  dol 
lar!" 

"I  might  be  able  to  fix  you  so  you  could 
git  it  fer  less,"  the  Boss  encouraged  her;  "I 
know  a  lady  what  sells  hats,  an'  she  might 
let  you  have  something  cheap  if  I  saw  her 
about  it. " 

"Oh,  would  you  really!"  cried  the 
[62] 


"An  old  crony  of  his  mother's  who  kept  a  millinery  establishment 
neatly  combined  with  a  candy  counter  and  a  barrel  of  sauerkraut  " 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

guileless  young  person,  "that  is  very  good  of 
you,"  and  thereupon  fell  into  consideration 
of  a  suitable  color  scheme. 

:*You  leave  me  'tend  to  it,"  the  Boss  ad 
vised.  "I'll  fix  you  up  all  right,  all  right." 

On  his  way  to  the  cellar  he  stopped  to  visit 
an  old  crony  of  his  mother's  who  kept  a  mil 
linery  establishment  neatly  combined  with  a 
candy  counter  and  a  barrel  of  sauerkraut. 
With  tales  of  the  approaching  birthday  of  the 
weak-minded  sister  he  induced  this  lady  to 
part  —  at  the  reduced  rate  of  thirty -four 
cents  —  with  a  combination  of  purple  and 
parrot-green  velveteen  and  diamond  sun 
bursts.  Departing  with  this  grandeur  he 
made  the  provident  stipulation  that  unless 
the  mind  of  the  weak-minded  sister  were 
reached  and  pleasured  the  whole  transac 
tion  might  be  rescinded. 
[64] 


Miss  Bailey  cheerfully  paid  ninety  cents  for  the  head-gear 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

And  before  school  had  formally  opened  on 
the  next  morning,  Miss  Bailey  cheerfully 
paid  ninety  cents  for  the  head-gear  and  for  a 
lesson  in  the  sharpest  bargaining  of  which 
she  had  ever  dreamed. 

Teacher  was  as  new  and  puzzling  a  type 
to  the  Boss  as  he  was  to  her.  He  had  seen 
ladies  like  her  in  fashion-plates,  but  he  had 
never  imagined  that  the  road  to  Cards  and 
Unions  was  adorned  by  such  sentinels.  He 
had  not  expected  that  a  very  soft  hand  would 
guide  his  own  work-roughened  one  in  the 
formation  of  strange  letters:  that  a  very 
gentle  accent  would  guide  his  own  street- 
toughened  one  in  the  pronunciation  of  strange 
words.  But  least  of  all  had  he  expected  to 
enjoy  these  things  and  to  work  as  much  for 
the  lady's  commendation  as  for  Cards  and 
Unions,  to  be  interested  in  her  impossible 
[66] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

stories,  to  admire  her  clothes,  to  entrap  her 
into  ill-advised  purchases,  and  to  be  heavy  of 
heart  when  his  early  doubts  grew  into  sad  cer- 


"He  had  not  expected  that  a  very  soft  hand  would  guide 
his  own  work-roughened  one  " 

tainties  and  he  knew  that  Constance  Bailey, 
so  gay,  so  gullible,  so  friendly,  so  good  to  look 
upon,  was  woefully  weak  in  mentality. 

And   yet   what   other   explanation    could 
[67] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

there  be  of  her  wastefulness  of  time  and  effort 
and  material.  Why  spend  hours  in  the 
painting  of  a  flower  or  the  learning  of  a  string 
of  words  which  —  when  they  meant  any 
thing  at  all  —  meant  lies.  Why  close  her 
ears  to  truth  ?  Why  reject  his  answer,  found 
ed  upon  fact  and  observation,  to  her  ques 
tion:  "Where  did  you  come  from,  Baby 
dear?"  in  favor  of  Isidore  Belchatosky's 
inane  doggerel:  "  Out  of  the  everywhere  into 
the  here. " 

Then  there  was  her  Board  of  Monitors. 
The  sons  and  daughters  of  great  men  were 
entrusted  to  her  care  and  she  allowed  them 
to  languish  in  officeless  obscurity  while  Mor 
ris  Mogilewsky,  Yetta  Aaronsohn,  Eva  Gon- 
orowsky,  Nathan  Spiderwitz  and  Patrick 
Brennan  basked  in  favor  and  high  places. 
Was  not  Isaac  Borrachsohn,  the  son  of  an 
[68] 


Yetta 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

Assemblyman  and  the 
grandson  of  a  Rabbi,  bet 
ter  fitted  to  "  make  good  " 
than  the  daughter  of  a 
man  who  peddled  notions 
"  on  the  country,"  or  a  boy 
whose  father  even  then 
was  looking  for  a  job  ? 

But  the  saddest  proof  of  her  mental  con 
dition  was  her  passion  for  washing.  She 
was  always  at  it.  She  had  established  a  basin 
and  a  heap  of  towels  in  one  corner  of  Room 
18  and  there  she  would  wash  a  First  Reader 
for  no  reason  at  all,  or  because  of  a  mere  ob 
scurity  of  feature  which  might  have  been 
easily  cleared  away  by  the  application  of  a 
slightly  moistened  coat  cuff  or  the  damp 
ened  hem  of  an  apron.  In  a  paroxysm  of 
cleanliness  she  washed  the  Boss,  though  his 
[69] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

morning  canvass  of  his  person  had  shown 
him  to  be,  with  careful  usage,  good  for  at 
least  a  week.  She  washed  paint  brushes,  desk 
covers,  glasses,  even  pencils.  All  was  fish 
that  came  to  her  net  and  she  put  it  all  in 
water. 

There  was  one  phase  of  her  conversation 
which  refused  to  classify  itself  either  as  fact 
or  fiction.  In  the  Course  of  Study  it  was 
described  as  "Moral  Training,"  and  Con 
stance  Bailey  devoted  a  daily  half  hour  to 
this  part  of  her  duty.  She  combined  ethics 
with  biography,  and  showed  that  virtue  not 
.  only  was  its  own  cold  reward  but  that  the 
virtuous  always  held  preferred  stock  in  the 
business  of  life,  and  might  realize  at  a  mo 
ment's  notice.  There  was  Jack  the  Giant 
Killer  and  Abey  Lincoln;  King  Alfred  the 
Great  and  the  Light  Brigade;  King  Arthur 
[70] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

and  the  David  who  slew  Goliath;  and  --  but 
this  was  the  Boss's  contribution  to  the  gal 
axy  of  heroism  -  -  there  was  his  own  country 
man  Schonsky  who  had  licked  Paddy,  The 
Terrible  and  many  others.  All  these  bright 
stars  of  history,  all  these  examples  of  the 
good  and  true,  had  reaped  great  renown  and 
profit  from  their  purity  and  prowess;  had 
triumphed  over  wrong;  had  demonstrated 
beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  "honesty 
is  the  best  policy"  and  that  "fortune  favors 
the  brave." 

So  things  progressed  in  Room  18  until  the 
Friday  afternoon  of  the  Boss's  second  week  . 
in  the  high  halls  of  learning.  On  the  preced 
ing  Friday  he  had  been  detained  in  the  cellar 
by  the  sudden  collapse  of  a  boarder.  But 
during  the  second  week  he  had  been  constant 
in  his  attendance  and  Teacher  handed  him  a 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

blue  ticket  which  announced  to  whom  it 
might  concern  —  and  who  could  read  it  - 
that  the  punctuality,  the  application,  and  the 
deportment  of  the  Boss  had  been  all  that 
could  have  been  desired.  She  smiled  approv 
ingly  when  she  gave  it  to  him;  she  even  laid 
an  appreciative  hand  for  an  appreciable  mo 
ment  on  the  mouse-colored  head  and  added 
a  word  of  encouragement. 

:'You  have  done  beautifully  this  week," 
she  vouchsafed  him,  "  I  am  very  proud  of  my 
new  little  boy." 

The  new  little  boy  retreated  silently  to 
his  place  and  watched.  He  noted  the  joy  and 
eagerness  of  such  children  as  received  tickets, 
the  dejection  of  those  who  got  none.  He  did 
not  quite  understand  the  details  of  the  sys 
tem  but  its  general  principles  were  familiar 
to  him,  so  he  waited  until  he  and  Miss  Bailey 
[72] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

were  alone  and  she  had  given  him  such 
private  instruction  as  their  scanty  leisure 
allowed.  Then  he  drew  out  his  certificate  of 
merit  and  asked: 

"  Where  do  I  git  it  cashed  ?" 

"You  don't  get  it  cashed,"  said  Teacher. 
"You  take  it  home  to  show  that  you  were  a 
good  litt'eboy." 

"  Then  where  do  I  git  me  pay  ?  " 

"Your  pay  for  being  good!"  Miss  Bailey 
reproved  him. 

"Naw, "  said  the  Boss,  "me  pay  fer  sew- 
in'.  Didn't  I  make  ye  a  book-mark  an'  mat, 
an'  a  horse  reins  fer  a  kid  ?" 

"  But  not  for  pay, "  Teacher  remonstrated. 
"You  did  it  for - 

"Fer  me  health?"  queried  the  Boss. 
"  Well  I  guess  nit.  I  done  the  work  an'  I  done 
it  good,  an'  I  want  me  pay.  If  you  don't  fix 
[73] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

me  up  I'll  report  you  and  have  your  whole  - 
shop  raided." 

In  view  of  this  awful  threat  and  of  the 
bursting  indignation  of  the  Boss,  Teacher 
temporized  with  the  hopeful-sounding  but 
most  doubting  suggestion : 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  take  the  things 
home  with  you  now  ?  You  will  get  all  your 
sewing  at  promotion  time,  but  if  you  would 
like  to  have  those  three  pieces  to-day  I  might 
let  you  take  them. 

"No  you  don't,"  said  the  good  little  boy 
grimly.  "You  don't  work  me  with  none  of 
your  con  games.  I  done  the  work  an'  I  want 
me  pay." 

Gently,  but  firmly,  Miss  Bailey  explained 
the  by-laws  of  the  Board  of  Education  to 
him.  Stubbornly  he  refused  to  accept  the 
explanation. 

[74] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

'You  git  your  pay  all  right,  all  right," 
he  unchivalrously  reminded  her.  'You  git 
your  pay  an'  now  you're  try  in'  to  welsh  on 
them  poor  little  kids.  Why,  I  wouldn't  treat 
the  greenest  Greenie  in  my  cellar  like  you 
treat  them  kids  what  you're  paid  to  treat 
right." 

Miss  Bailey  appealed  to  his  common  sense, 
to  his  thirst  for  learning,  to  the  integrity  of 
all  her  former  dealings  with  her  good  little 
boy.  In  vain,  again  in  vain.  The  commer 
cialism  of  the  Boss  was  rampant  and  vigi 
lant.  At  the  first  pause  in  her  justification  he 
broke  in  with: 

"  An'  I  folded  papers  f er  you,  too.  Don't  I 
git  no  pay  f  er  that  ?  I  don't  know  the  rates  on 
that  kind  of  a  job  but  a  young  lady  friend  of 
mine  works  to  a  paper-boxes  factory  an'  she 
gets  good  money.  What  are  you  goin'  to  do 
[75] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

about  the  house  I  folded  for  you  ?  A  house 
an'  a  barn,  an'  a  darn  fool  bird.  (I  won't 
charge  you  nothin'  on  that  bird  'cause  it  didn't 
look  like  nothin'.)  But  I  want  me  pay  on 
them  other  things,  an'  you'll  be  sorry  if  you 
don't  fix  me  up  now.  I'll  queer  yer  good  and 
plenty  if  you  don't.  I  -  "  and  here  the  con 
tempt  and  the  maturity  of  the  Boss  were 
wonderful  to  see  -  "I  don't  want  the  crazy 
truck.  I  don't  want  no  book-mark  —  I 
ain't  got  no  book.  Nor  I  don't  want  no  paper 
house  an'  barn.  An'  do  I  look  like  I  wanted  a 
horse  reins  with  bells  on  it  ?  Bells  on  me!" 
cried  the  Boss  who  had  his  own  reasons  for 
going  softly  all  his  days.  "Well  I  guess  nit!" 
Of  course  compromise,  after  attempted 
intimidation,  was  impossible,  and  Miss 
Bailey  went  home  that  afternoon  in  a  most 
uncomfortable  frame  of  mind.  For  the  Boss 
[76] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

had  interested  her.  She  had  enjoyed  working 
for  and  gaining  his  slow  regard,  was  attract 
ed  by  his  independence.  And  she  wras  sorry 
for  the  little  chap  with  his  tiny  body  and  his 
great  responsibilities.  While  he  was  pitying 
her  for  the  omission  of  mind  from  her  consti 
tution  she  was  grieving  over  him  as  a  child 
defrauded  of  his  childhood.  But  in  this 
matter  of  paying  children  for  the  work  they 
did  at  school,  there  was  nothing  she  could 
say  to  make  him  understand  her  position. 

On  Monday  morning  the  lowering  expres 
sion  of  the  Boss's  visage  and  the  truculent 
carriage  of  the  corduroy  head  had  become 
epidemic  in  Room  18.  All  the  dark  eyes, 
which  for  nearly  a  whole  term  had  regarded 
Miss  Bailey  as  a  judicious  combination  of 
angel,  Fairy-tale,  and  Benevolent  Society, 
were  now  darker  still  with  disillusionment 
[77] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

and  suspicion.  Sulkily,  the  First  Reader 
Class  obeyed  the  voice  of  authority.  Slowly, 
the  First  Reader  Class  cast  off  the  spell 
which  had  held  them.  Stealthily,  the  First 
Reader  Class  watched  the  mouse-colored 
crest  of  its  new  commander  and  waited  for 
his  signal  to  revolt.  It  came  with  the  sewing 
hour  in  the  late  morning.  Fat  needles  and 
gay  worsted  were  distributed  and  the  work 
ing-drawing  of  a  most  artistic  iron-holder 
was  traced  upon  the  blackboard.  The  work 
was  ready,  but  the  workers  were  militantly 
not  so.  Teacher  turned  to  Morris  Mogilew- 
sky: 

"  Is  this  a  Jewish  holiday  ?  "  she  asked  him, 
out  of  her  disheartening  experience  of  the  en 
forced  idleness  of  those  frequent  festivals. 

"No,  ma'am,  this  ain't  no  holiday,"  Mor 
ris  answered.  "On'y  we  dassent  to  sew  fer 
[78] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

you  fer  nothings,  the  while  we  likes  we  shall 
make  mit  you  a  hit. " 

"That  is  slang,  dear,"  Teacher  warned 
him.  "But  you  could  make  much  more  of  a 
hit  with  me  by  doing  your  sewing  like  good 
children." 

''We  dassent.  The  new  boy  he  makes  we 
shall  make  a  swear  over  it.  It's  a  fierce 


swear.'1 


"Come  here,"  Teacher  commanded,  and 
the  Boss,  abandoning  a  lurking  desire  to  use 
his  desk  as  a  barricade  and  to  entrench  him 
self  behind  it,  rose  upon  unsteady  legs  and 
obeyed.  Teacher  looked  less  harmless  than 
he  had  expected  as  she  demanded: 

''What  kind  of  a  hit  is  this  supposed  to 
be?" 

"It  ain't  no  hit.  It's  a  strike.  I  told  the 
kids  what  their  work  is  worth  an'  they  feel 
[79] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

like  I  do  about  doin'  it  fer  nothin'.  I  guess 
you'll  be  sorry  you  turned  me  down,  Fri 
day,"  and  for  a  baffled  moment  Teacher 
wished  that  the  turning  might  be  across  her 
knee  and  accompanied  with  vigorous  in 
fringement  of  the  by-laws.  Here  was  a  model 
class  of  the  school,  her  pride,  her  enthusiasm, 
almost  her  creation,  given  over  to  mutiny 
and  sedition.  For  a  moment  she  thought  of 
using  coercion  and  then  determined  upon  a 
coup  d'etat.  Very  gravely  she  stood  beside 
her  desk  and  made  an  address  of  farewell. 

She  touched  upon  the  little  joys  and  sor 
rows  which  had  visited  Room  18.  She  made 
artful  allusions  to  flowers,  canaries,  goldfish, 
and  rabbits.  She  cast  one  regretful  eye  back 
to  the  Christmas  tree  and  she  cast  the  other 
forwards  to  the  proposed  'scursion  to  Cen 
tral  Park.  She  concluded,  as  well  as  she 
[80] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

could  through  the  satisfactory  veil  of  tears 
which  had  enveloped  the  Class: 

"But  since  you  feel  that  I  have  treated  you 
badly,  since  you  feel  that  you  should  have 
been  paid  for  learning  those  things  which 
will  help  to  make  you  useful  when  you  are 
big  and  to  keep  you  happy  while  you  are 
little,  I  must  ask  you  to  take  your  hats  and 
coats  and  everything  which  belongs  to  you 
and  to  leave  your  desks  for  the  little  boys  and 
girls  —  there  are  plenty  of  them  —  who  will 
be  glad  to  come  to  school  in  Room  18  and 
who  won't  have  to  be  paid  for  coming. " 

A  long  and  wavering  wail  from  the  moni 
tor  of  pencil  points  ended  Miss  Bailey's  val 
edictory  and  was  echoed  by  the  monitors  of 
goldfish  and  of  buttons. 

"I  don't  want  I  shall  be  promoted," 
snuffled  Ignatius  Aloysius  Diamantstein  with 
[81] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

a  damp  cuff  against  a  damper  nose.  "I 
have  a  fraid  over  Miss  Blake  und  I  likes  it 
here  all  right. " 

"You  won't  be  promoted,"  Miss  Bailey 
comforted  him.  "You  will  stay  at  home  or 
play  on  the  street.  You  won't  have  to  go  to 
school  at  all." 

"I  don't  likes  it,  I  don't  likes  it!"  wailed 
Morris  Mogilewsky.  "I  don't  need  I  shall 
be  no  rowdy  what  plays  by  blocks.  I  likes 
I  shall  stay  by  your  side  und  make  what  is 
healthy  mit  them  f rom-gold  fishes. " 

"  Very  well,  you  may  stay  if  you  care  to, " 
Miss  Bailey  remarked  with  a  coldness  hither 
to  unknown  in  her  dealings  with  this,  the 
most  devoted  of  her  charges.  "  But  the  others 
must  take  their  things  and  go  at  once." 

But  no  one  wanted  to  go.  Teacher  was 
buried  under  a  landslide  of  moistly  com- 
[82] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

punctious  First  Readers  which  launched  it 
self  upon  her  defenseless  person  with  tearful 
pledges  of  fealty.  When  it  was  at  last  dif 
ferentiated  and  driven  back  to  the  desks 
Miss  Bailey  delivered  her  ultimatum: 

"  The  children  who  will  stay  at  school  only 
if  they  are  paid  for  their  work  here  may  — 
Stand!" 

Only  the  Boss  arose.  Fear,  or  love,  or 
gratitude,  or  public  opinion  held  the  others 
in  their  seats  and  the  Boss  surveyed  them 
with  hot  scorn.  He  had  not  reached  that 
stage  of  Moral  Training  which  would  have 
taught  him  that  the  way  of  the  reformer  is 
as  hard  as  that  of  the  transgressor,  and  that 
the  wages  of  the  man  who  tries  to  awaken 
his  fellow  is  generally  derision  and  often 
death. 

So  he  shared  the  lot  of  many  leaders  and 
[83] 


•L 


A     SOUL     ABOVE      BUTTONS 

stood  without  followers  when  the  time  for 
action  had  come. 

"You're  a  bunch  of  sissies,"  he  informed 
the  neat  and  serried  ranks  of  the  First  Read 
ers.  "You're  a  bunch  of  softies.  You're  a 
bunch  of  scabs." 

"You  really  mustn't  say  such  words," 
Teacher  reproved  him.  "You  just  wait  in 
the  hall  for  a  moment  while  I  give  the  chil 
dren  something  to  do;  I  want  to  talk  to  you. " 

Some  compromise  between  the  Boss,  Miss 
Bailey,  and  the  By-laws  might  have  been 
effected,  but  when  Teacher  had  supplied  her 
reclaimed  and  repentant  charges  with  occu 
pation,  when  she  had  placed  Patrick  Bren- 
nan  in  command  and  had  uncoiled  sundry 
penitent  embraces  which  had  again  fastened 
upon  her,  she  followed  the  Boss  and  found 
the  hall  empty. 

[85] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

Scouts  were  despatched  and  returned 
baffled.  The  truant  officer  was  no  more  suc 
cessful.  Miss  Bailey  visited  the  cellar  and 
retired  discomfited,  for  she  could  neither 
breathe  the  air,  believe  the  disclaimers,  nor 
speak  the  speech  which  she  encountered 
there.  Other  First  Readers  from  time  to 
time  reported  fleeting  glimpses  of  the  al 
ways  fleeing  Boss.  But  what  could  the  in 
experienced  eyes  of  Constance  Bailey,  the 
hurried  inspection  of  the  truant  officer,  the 
innocent  regard  of  the  First  Readers  avail 
against  his  trained  and  constant  watchful 
ness.  More  than  ever  now  did  he  go  softly 
all  his  days  and  many  of  his  nights. 

For  he  had  presented  himself  before  his 
friend,  the  manager  of  the  shop,  as  one  de 
siring  examination  in  the  elements  of  Eng 
lish  Literature  and  Composition  and  had  dis- 
[86] 


A     SOUL     ABOVE     BUTTONS 

covered  that  his  two  weeks  had  furthered  him 
not  at  all  upon  the  way  to  Cards  off  of 
Unions  and  that  buttons  were  still  to  be  his 
portion. 

"Ain't  this  writin' ?"  he  demanded  and 
offered  for  his  friend's  inspection  some  mystic 
marks  of  whose  meaning  —  in  the  absence  of 
a  copy  -  -  he  was  a  little  unsure. 

"No,  it  ain't.  It's  foolin',"  said  the  candid 
friend. 

"She  learned  me  that,"  the  Boss  main 
tained.  "An'  she  learned  me  too,  'Honesty 
is  the  best  Policy.'  What's  that?" 

"That's  a  lie,"  the  candid  one  informed 
him. 

"An'  she  learned  us  about  Jack  the  Giant 
Killer  an'  King  Arthur.  Who  was  they  ?" 

"Fakes,"  was  the  verdict  of  candor.  "She 
worked  you  for  all  you  was  worth. " 
[87] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

"She  fooled  me  all  right,  all  right,"  the 
rueful  Boss  admitted.  "But  say,  you'd  ought 
to  see  her.  She  sure  looks  like  the  real  thing. " 
"Sure  she  does,"  acquiesced  the  friend, 
who  combined  worldly  wisdom  with  his 
frankness.  "The  slickest  always  does." 

And  so  the  Boss  avoided  the  high  halls  of 
learning  and  all  associated  therewith.  For 
had  he  not  bent  thirstily  over  the  Pierian 
Spring  expecting  to  quaff  inspiration  to 
Cards  and  to  Unions,  and  had  he  not  found 
that  it  flowed  forth 
misinformation,  Swe 
dish  Exercises,  unpaid 
labor,  and  that  it  bub 
bled  disgustingly  with 
soap  and  water? 


[88] 


THE    SLAUGHTER 
OF  THE    INNOCENTS 


THE      SLAUGHTER      OF      THE 
INNOCENTS 

"No,  Yetta,  I  think  not, "  answered  Teacher. 
'You  have  a  very  nice  place  of  your  own. 
Why  should  you  want  to  sit  near  me?" 

"  I  could  to  hold  your  pencil, "  the  Monitor 
of  Buttons  suggested  with  a  pale  hopeful 
ness. 

'Thank  you,  dear,  but  it  stays  very  safely 
on  my  desk,"  replied  Teacher.  "We  will  go 
on  with  our  reading.  You  were  doing  very 
nicely,  Morris.  See  the  waves  break  on  the  — 
what  do  waves  break  on,  Morris  ?"  But  the 
Monitor  of  the  Goldfish  Bowl  could  not  re 
member  having  been  on  intimate  terms  with 
a  body  of  water  larger  than  that  in  which 
[91] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

his  charges  were  even  then  lazily  sinking  and 
floating  with  mouths  agape  and  fins  trailing. 
His  lip  began  to  tremble. 

"Look  carefully  at  the  word,"  Teacher 
encouraged  him.  "Try  to  remember  the 
sounds  of  the  letters." 

Morris  hissed  and  sputtered  in  obedient 
effort  and  finally  delivered  himself  of  the 
statement:  "The  waves  break  on  the  store." 

Hands  sprang  up  in  all  directions:  some 
were  almost  shaken  free  from  connecting 
wrists  in  the  eagerness  of  superior  knowledge. 

"You've  been  to  Coney  Island,  Isaac," 
said  Teacher.  'You  may  help  Morris. 
'  The  waves  break  on  the  - 

"Swimming  ladies,"  cried  Iky  Borrach- 
sohn  promptly.   "I  seen  'em  last  Sunday. 
Mine  uncle  takes  me  for  see  them.    They 
hollers  somethin'  fierce." 
[92] 


SLAUGHTER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS 

"No,  no,  no,  dear, 
Morris  was  more 
nearly  right  than  you 
are.  I'll  write  the  word 
on  the  board.  Now; 
who  knows  it  ?  Every 
body  !  Good  babies ! 
Well,  you  read  it, 
Yetta  Aarcnsohn." 

"I   holds    up    mine 
hand,"  explained  the 
unabashed    Yetta, 
"the   while  I  likes   I 
shall  set  by  your  side." 
"  Don't  be  silly,  Yetta, "  answered  Teacher ; 
for  she  was  very  tired;  the  day  was  very  hot 
and  interruptions  very  unwelcome.  "This  is 
a  reading  lesson.  Eva,  you  read  the  word. " 
"Shore,"  announced  that  most  reliable  of 
[93] 


Yetta 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

small  persons.  And  so  the  lesson  progressed. 
At  every  appeal  to  the  opinion  of  the  popu 
lace  Yetta's  hand  clawed  the  atmosphere  of 
Room  18,  but  always  her  information  con 
sisted  of  the  rumor  that  she  fain  would  sit 
at  Teacher's  knee  upon  the  Kindergarten 
chair  sacred  to  those  undergoing  a  cotton  and 
camphor  treatment  for  toothache  or  awaiting 
beneficent  action  of  dilute  Jamaica  Ginger. 

"But  you  have  no  toothache,"  remon 
strated  Miss  Bailey,  upon  the  sixth  of  such 
interruptions.  "Why  can't  you  be  happy  at 
your  own  desk  ?" 

"  Don't  you  likes  you  shall  set  by  my 
side  ?"  questioned  Eva  Gonorowsky. 

"I  likes,"  suggested  Yetta,  "I  likes  I 
shall  hold  Teacher's  handcher." 

"  Thank  you  so  much,  but  I  prefer  to  keep 
it  in  my  pocket,"  said  Miss  Bailey,  restoring 
[94] 


SLAUGHTER   OF   THE   INNOCENTS 

it  to  that  receptacle  of  her  trim  white  linen 
costume. 


"  '  Don't  you  likes  you  shall  set  by  my  side  ? ' ' 

And  thereupon  the  Monitor  of  Buttons 
laid  her  head  upon  her  own  disprized  desk 
and  wept  quietly. 

[95] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

'You  won't  lets  me  I  shall  hold  your 
pencil,"  she  whimpered  when  Miss  Bailey 
bent  over  her  and  essayed  comfort.  "You 
won't  lets  me  I  shall  hold  your  handcher,  you 
won't  lets  me  I  shall  hold  your  hand.  You 
won't  lets  me  I  shall  just  set." 

"Well,  of  course,"  Teacher  relented,  "if 
you  think  it  would  do  you  good  to  simply  sit 
in  the  little  chair  - 

'  Yiss,  ma' an,  that's  healthy  for  me. " 

"  Then,  of  course,  you  may, "  said  Teacher. 
"Just  try  to  let  it  make  you  a  little  fat  and  a 
little  pink.  You  are  a  very  white  little  Yetta. " 

"Yiss,  ma' an, "Yetta  acquiesced."!  ain't 
so  awful  healthy." 

At    recess    time    Teacher    detained    the 
small  sufferer  and  made  a  superficial  ex 
amination.  A  shade  of  fever,  a  general  sense 
of  malaise,  a  great  weariness  without  much 
[96] 


SLAUGHTER  OF   THE   INNOCENTS 

desire  to  sleep,  a  persistent  headache,  a  little 
difficulty  in  hearing,  almost  bloodless  gums 
and  inner  eyelids,  were  the  symptoms  at 
which  she  arrived.  And  when  the  First 
Readers  filed  back,  after  fifteen  minutes  of 
decorous  relaxation  and  refreshment  in  the 
dim  but  stuffy  coolness  of  the  school-yard, 
they  found  Yetta  in  the  enjoyment  of  the 
Kindergarten  chair  and  the  large  doll  reserved 
for  acute  or  surgical  cases.  A  patch  of  ab 
sorbent  cotton  soaked  in  alcohol  was  bound 
to  her  brow  with  a  gauze  bandage  and  held 
in  place  by  a  safety-pin  chosen  by  the  patient 
from  Teacher's  store,  and  announcing  by  its 
size  and  authority  that  the  suffering  to  which 
it  was  applied  was  of  the  most  severe  and 
serious  nature. 

At  intervals  of  the  school  routine,  Miss 
Bailey  would  make  polite  inquiries;  "How 
[97] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

is  it  now,  Yetta  ?  Shall  I  put  more  alcohol  on 
the  bandage  ?"  And  Yetta's  invariable  reply 
was:  "It's  worster,"  in  the  most  pathetic  of 
suffering  inflections.  She  enjoyed  her  indis 
position  and  regarded  herself  as  entitled  to 
all  first-aids  to  the  injured  which  the  desk 
afforded.  She  was,  therefore,  very  indignant 
when  she  detected  Jacob  Spitsky  in  a  bloody 
attempt  upon  her  position. 

"Teacher,"  she  interrupted  a  bout  of  men 
tal  arithmetic  to  warn  Miss  Bailey,  "Teach 
er,  Jacob  Spitsky  pulls  his  tooth  extra  loose 
the  while  he  wants  he  shall  set  here.  Und  my 
head  ain't  healthy  yet." 

"It's  a  lie,"  yelled  the  outraged  Jacob. 
"  Mine  tooth  was  over  yesterday  in  the  mor 
ning  loose.  It  bleeds  all  over  mine  jumper  und 
it  spoils  mine  necktie.  My  papa  says  I  don't 
needs  it  no  more." 

[98] 


SLAUGHTER   OF   THE   INNOCENTS 

"Don't  take  it  out  here,"  Miss  Bailey 
charged  him,  with  a  memory  of  several  such 
hari-kari  performances  and  a  prevision  of 
the  probable  result  to  her  spotless  linen. 
"  If  you  do,  I  shall  certainly  send  you  home. 
I'm  taking  care  of  Yetta  now.  It  is  not  your 
turn  to  be  sick.  You  had  an  earache  last 
week."  And  fortified  by  this  successful  en 
counter  Yetta's  watchful  eyes,  under  the 
gauze  bandage,  roamed  the  serried  ranks  of 
the  First  Readers  and  warned  Teacher  of 
impending  danger. 

Thus  the  long  hot  afternoon  passed  and 
brought  three  o'clock  and  leisure.  Jacob 
Spitsky  and  the  rank  and  file  of  First  Read 
ers  retired  with  undiminished  teeth.  Room  18 
was  left  to  its  Teacher  and  its  monitors  who 
straightway  busied  themselves  with  unsub 
stantial  tea-cups  and  an  alcohol  kettle.  The 
[99] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

children  loved  the  vicarious  hospitality  of 
these  afternoons  when  ladies  and  gentlemen 
visited  Teacher,  wore  interesting  clothes, 
made  unintelligible  comments,  and  shed  an 
air  of  "stylishness"  upon  the  class-room. 
Generally  Yetta  shared  in  this  enthusiasm, 
but  to-day  she  sat  upon  her  Kindergarten 
chair  —  moved  now  into  a  patch  of  sunshine 
—  and  shivered.  Nothing  roused  her  to  more 
than  a  languid  interest.  The  Monitor  of 
Pencil  Points  tendered  her  an  outworn  pen 
cil.  Morris  Mogilewsky,  Guardian  of  the 
Goldfish  Bowl,  prescribed  a  small  quantity 
of  fish  food  from  his  official  store.  Nathan 
Spiderwitz,  who  held  the  Portfolio  of  Win 
dow-Boxes,  offered  her  a  withered  blossom 
and  a  crinkled  leaf.  She  accepted  these 
ameliorations  with  gentle,  silent  gratitude, 
but  she  was  still  huddled  close  to  the  heat 
[100] 


SLAUGHTER   OF  THE   INNOCENTS 

when  steps  sounded  in  the  hall.  Teacher 
flushed  quickly,  the  door  opened,  and  Dr. 
Ingraham  came  in.  The  Principal  was  with 
him  and  they  were  evidently  in  search  of  tea. 
At  least  such  seemed  to  be  the  quest  of  the 
Principal.  The  Board  of  Monitors  had  long 
ago  decided  that  other  interests  prompted 
Dr.  Ingraham  to  so  frequently  desert  the  suf 
ferers  in  the  neighboring  Gouverneur  Hos 
pital  for  the  calm  groves  of  Nathan's  tending. 
But  they  had,  also,  as  time  passed  and  Teach 
er  remained  with  them,  voted  him  harmless 
and  accepted  his  friendship,  his  visits,  and 
his  largesse.  In  his  survey  of  Room  18  and 
its  occupants  he,  of  course,  discovered  Yetta. 

"Another?"  he  asked. 

"I   fear   so,"  answered    Teacher.     'The 
tenth  this  week  in  this  class,  and  the  other 

teachers  tell  me 

[101] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

The  Principal  groaned  audibly  and  con 
sumed  hot  tea  to  an  extent  which  paralyzed 
the  eyes  and  the  manners  of  Morris  Mogilew- 
sky. 

"The  other  classes  in  the  Primary  Depart 
ment,"  said  he,  "  are  just  as  bad.  Such  reports 
of  average  attendance !  And  such  slow  stupid 
ity  when  they  do  come !  The  teachers  dis 
couraged,  the  District  Superintendent  puz 
zled,  the  Board  watchful.  And  here  am  I 
trying  to  keep  up  the  standard  of  the  school 
against  such  odds  and  in  such  weather." 

"Really,  do  you  know,"  Miss  Bailey 
commented,  "I  think  there  is  some  subtle 
connection  between  their  noses  and  their 
brains.  I've  noticed  a  decided  improvement 
in  the  youngsters  who  have  received  treat 
ment." 

"Of  course,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "Noth- 
[102] 


SLAUGHTER   OF  THE   INNOCENTS 

ing  is  more  clearly  or  more  easily  proved. 
How  can  you  expect  the  kidlets  to  think 
properly  unless  they  can  breathe  properly. 
Try  it  yourselves  and  see.  Health  comes 
first,  I  tell  you.  And  then,"  with  a  laughing 
bow  to  Miss  Bailey  and  the  Principal,  "  then 
knowledge. " 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  the  Principal  insisted; 
"a  little  knowledge  might  lead  them  to 
health.  An  inkling  of  physiology,  a  few 
laws  of  hygiene  - 

"And  the  means  of  carrying  out  the  laws," 
suggested  Miss  Bailey.  "  You  men  always 
grow  theoretical.  Please  stick  to  practicalities 
and  tell  me  what  to  do  for  this  baby";  and 
she  called  to  her  patient  patient:  "Yetta, 
honey,  come  here. " 

The  Monitor  of  Buttons  tore  herself  away 
from  the  sunshine  and  obeyed.  Leaning 
[103] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

against  Teacher's  knee  she  shivered  forlornly 
and  waited. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me,  dear,"  Miss  Bailey 
began,  "  what  you  generally  have  for  break 
fast." 

Yetta  regarded  the  kind  eyes  above  hers 
for  a  puzzled  second  before  she  answered 
gently : 

"Coffee." 

"Nothing  else?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"And  for  dinner?" 

"Coffee." 

"And  for  supper." 

"Coffee." 

The  Principal  groaned  again  and  turned 

to  the  doctor,  who  had  eyes  for  nothing  but 

the  white  clad  girl  arid  the  bedraggled  child 

before  them.   "And  there  are  thousands  of 

[104] 


'  'When  I  couldn't  to  sew  no  more  I  lays  in  sleep*  " 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

such  cases,"  he  marveled,  for  he  never  grew 
reconciled,  "  thousands  of  such  little  lives  - 
and    deaths."    But    Miss    Bailey    had    not 
finished. 

"  And  when  do  you  go  to  bed  ?" 
"Teacher,  I  don't  goes  to  bed.  I  helps  my 
mama.  When  I  couldn't  to  sew  no  more  I 
lays  in  sleep.  Sooner  I  wakes  and  helps 
some  more.  TJnd  by  times  I  goes  on  the  yard 
fer  water  fer  make  coffee.  I  ain't  got  time 
I  shall  put  me  the  clothes  off  and  lay  by  the 
bed.  I  ain't  no  baby." 

"No,  indeed,  dear,  you  are  —  How   old 
are  you,  Yetta  ?" 

"I'm  seven.  I  will  become  eight." 
"  Of  course  you're  not  a  baby.  I  want  you 
to  show  how  big  and  brave  a  girl  you  are  by 
going  over  to  the  window  with  Dr.  Ingraham, 
and  letting  him  look  at  your  throat. " 
[106] 


"  '  7  goes  on  the  yard  fer  water 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

"It  ain't  healthy,"  Yetta  warned  this  tall 
young  man  with  the  kind  eyes  and  the  strong 
hands.  "I  guess  maybe  I'm  got  a  sickness. 
Mine  head  aches.  Und  mine  neck  aches, 
und  I  likes  I  shall  make  nothings  on'y  just 
set  mit  cold  feelings  in  mine  heart  und  tears 
in  mine  eyes." 

The  Doctor's  examination,  though  more 
thorough  and  professional  than  Teacher's, 
led  to  the  same  diagnosis. 

"Adenoids,  of  course,  and  a  rather  aggra 
vated  case, "  was  his  decision ; "  but  one  which 
good  food,  fresh  air  and  sunshine  would 
cure.  But  failing  these,  an  operation  is  the 
only  thing." 

"Just  as  I  say,"  maintained  the  Principal. 
"If  we  could  only  reach  the  parents  and 
educate  them  - 

"Or  as  /  say,"  Dr.  Ingraham  countered; 
[108] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

"  if  we  could  force  them  to  observe  a  few  of 
the  laws  of  health." 

"But  neither  knowledge  nor  health  alone 
will  solve  the  problem,"  amended  Teacher. 
"You  must  have  both  and  something  else 
besides. " 

"What  else  ?"  demanded  the  Doctor,  but 
Miss  Bailey  laughed  and  looked  at  the  Prin 
cipal.  "  I'll  tell  you  when  I'm  sure  I'm 
right,"  she  promised,  and  the  conversation 
veered  to  other  things. 

Since  this  blight  had  been  discovered  in 
the  school  Miss  Bailey  had  spent  the  major 
ity  of  her  afternoons  in  calling  upon  the 
parents  of  afflicted  children  and  urging 
them  to  action  or  even  to  interest.  The  task 
had  been  a  trying  one.  East  Side  mothers 
are  too  busy  and  too  resigned  to  demand  a 
high  standard  of  ruggedness  or  ruddiness  in 
[HO] 


SLAUGHTER  OF   THE   INNOCENTS 

their  offspring,  and  a  child  who  can  stand, 
walk,  climb  stairs  and  get  into  its  clothes 
without  help  is  a  well  and  buxom  child.  An 
utter  lack  of  appetite  makes  rather  for  econ 
omy  than  for  uneasiness,  and  a  lack  of  interest 
is  no  disadvantage  when  the  days,  from  their 
dawning  to  their  dark,  hold  no  event  of 
pleasure  and  but  few  of  variety.  The  mothers 
were  generally  courteously  apathetic  and 
blandly  surprised  that  young  women - 
for  all  the  teachers  were  involved  in  the 
campaign  —  of  educational  and  social  ad 
vantages  had  no  better  sense  nor  occupation 
than  to  busy  themselves  with  obscure  ana 
tomical  observations  and  to  expect  others 
to  share  their  folly. 

Some  mothers  of  course  there  were  whose 
means  and  information  prompted  them  to  in 
stant  action.  A  local  doctor  was  consulted; 

[in] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

fifty  cents  changed  hands ;  a  scholar  was  ab 
sent  for  a  few  days ;  returned  with  reports  of 
bloody  details ;  was  a  hero  for  a  brief  space, 
and  then  gave  place  to  a  later  victim.  The 
vast  majority,  however,  paid  very  little 
attention  to  this  latest  manifestation  of 
pedagogic  hysteria.  They  classed  it  with 
the  mothers'  meetings  fad,  the  clean  hand 
crusade,  the  kindness  to  animals  agitation, 
all  of  which  had  to  be  endured  as  the  price 
of  an  education  nominally  free. 

Miss  Bailey  accompanied  Yetta  to  her 
abode  and,  through  the  interpretation  of 
that  small  sufferer,  delivered  an  address 
on  the  nature,  growth  and  danger  of  the 
affliction  with  which  the  preceding  weeks  had 
made  her  drearily  familiar.  Mrs.  Aaronsohn 
was  carefully  attentive  to  Yetta's  translation 
of  her  symptoms,  but  her  attention  was  due 
[112] 


SLAUGHTER   OF  THE   INNOCENTS 

to  a  very  real  and  grateful  regard  for  Miss 
Bailey  rather  than  to  alarm.  When  the  case 
had  been  fully  stated  she  pondered  for  some 
space,  but  she  still  made  buttonholes  with  a 
horrible  dexterity.  In  all  her  numerous 
visits  Miss  Bailey  had  never  seen  Mrs. 
Aaronsohn  empty-handed,  resting,  holding  a 
child,  or  even  standing  free  from  the  mound 
of  unfinished  garments  which  encompassed 
her  nether  limbs.  Still  sewing,  she  now  asked 
Teacher,  via  Yetta: 

"How  much  costs  that  'peration  ?" 

"Fifty  cents  to  have  it  done  by  the  doctor 
down-stairs.  Nothing  at  the  hospital. " 

These  health  quotations  were  imparted 
and  Mrs.  Aaronsohn  made  regretful  and 
lengthy  answer. 

"She  says  that's  five  hundred  button 
holes,"  Yetta  translated  to  Teacher,  "und 
[113] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

she  says  she  ain't  got  time  for  take  me  on 
the  hospital,  und  she  says,  anyway,  I  ain't 
never  a  fleshy  child,  und  mine  face  is  all 
times  white.  Und  she  likes  she  shall  look 
on  them  things  what  you  says  is  growin'  in 


me.): 


So  Yetta  climbed  upon  the  barricade  of 
"knee  pants,"  and  submitted  herself  to 
another  inspection,  while  Constance  Bailey 
labored  with  the  choking  atmosphere  and 
wished  alternately  for  millions  to  spend  in 
combat  with  such  conditions  as  these  and 
for  her  old-time  happy  ignorance  that  these 
conditions  could  exist.  For  here  was  a  child 
languishing  for  want  of  sunlight  and  God's 
fresh  air.  A  charming  child,  gentle-eyed, 
soft-voiced,  brave-hearted  and  devoted.  And 
patient  beyond  all  imagining. 

Mrs.  Aaronsohn  meanwhile  ceased  from 
[114] 


SLAUGHTER      OF     THE      INNOCENTS 

sewing  for  a  moment's  space.  She  investi 
gated  Yetta's  throat  as  far  down  as  unaided 
vision  would  allow:  investigated  Yetta's 
nose  up  to  the  same  satisfactory  limit,  and 
declared  the  prospect  to  differ  in  no  material 
detail  from  other  anatomies. 

"She  says  she  don't  see  no  biles,"  the 
patient  reported,  when  she  had  climbed  to  the 
floor,  and  when  Mrs.  Aaronsohn  had  re 
sumed  her  sewing.  "She  says  it's  healthy  for 
me  I  shall  be  cold  in  mine  hands  und  white 
on  mine  face.  Sooner  I  gets  hot  and  red  she 
could  to  have  a  fraid.  That's  how  our  other 
baby  dies.  We  got  two  left. "  And  in  her  pride 
of  exhibiting  the  remaining  babies  and 
pointing  out  the  reassuring  pallor  of  their 
faces  and  clamminess  of  their  hands,  she  al 
lowed  her  role  of  invalid  to  fall  from  her. 

So  many  of  the  teaching  staff  reported  a 
[115] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

like  lethargy  in  the  homes  of  their  charges, 
that  the  Principal  appealed  to  headquarters. 
The  Board  of  Education  applied  to  the  man 
agement  of  a  large  Jewish  hospital  and  the 
Principal  was  informed  that  upon  a  certain 
day  a  staff  of  doctors  and  of  nurses  would 
attend  to  and  operate,  free  of  all  charge  or 
officialdom,  upon  such  cases  of  adenoid 
growth  as  should  present  themselves  — 
with  certificates  signed  by  parents  or  guar 
dians  —  for  treatment. 

Other  interviews  between  parents  and 
teachers  ensued  and,  since  they  made  no  de 
mands  for  time  or  money,  were  crowned 
with  success.  For  the  East  Side  parent  has 
learned  to  trust  the  Board  of  Education  as  it 
trusts  no  other  of  the  powers  concerned  in  its 
care  and  guidance.  If  such  a  proposition  had 
been  made  by  the  Gerry  Society  or  the  Board 
[116] 


SLAUGHTER   OF  THE   INNOCENTS 

of  Health  it  would  have  been  received  with 
contumely  and  rejected  with  scorn.  For  was 
it  not  well  and  generally  understood  that 
these  forces  are  in  the  employ  and  command 
of  the  long-armed  Czar  of  Russia  and  that 
they  go  secretly  —  sometimes  even  openly  - 
up  and  down  the  world  seeking  to  reek  his 
vengeance  upon  the  people  he  was  bent 
upon  exterminating.  And  is  it  not  further 
clearly  known  and  easily  demonstrated  that 
the  Fire  Department,  the  Police  Force,  and 
the  Commissioners  of  Street  Cleaning  are 
further  manifestations  of  the  same  dread 
power  ? 

But  the  Board  of  Education  was  a  different 
thing.  Respected,  trusted  and  omnipresent, 
it  took  such  mild  and  beneficent  forms  as 
gentle  lady  teachers,  free  lunches,  night- 
schools,  roof -gardens,  recreation  piers  and 
[117] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

lectures  in  the  vernacular.  Its  occasional 
unreasonableness  and  "foolishnesses"  made 
it  only  the  more  human  and  lovable.  The 
teachers  carried  on  their  campaigns,  an  ex 
traordinary  collection  of  autographs  ac 
cumulated  upon  the  Principal's  desk,  the 
day  was  set,  patients  warned  and  cheered, 
and  all  things  were  put  in  readiness. 

This  new  and  unpronounceable  disorder, 
its  detection,  danger  and  cure,  formed  the 
topic  of  conversation  on  corners,  on  crowded 
crossings,  on  stairs,  in  the  class-rooms  and 
at  teachers'  meetings.  Even  the  local  papers 
found  space  for  its  mention  between  reports 
of  fresh  massacres  and  new  treacheries  in 
Russia,  the  increased  price  of  food,  and  the 
report  of  the  weather  bureau,  giving  no  hope 
of  coolness  or  of  rain. 

Mesdames  Spiderwitz  and  Mogilewsky 
[118] 


SLAUGHTER   OF  THE   INNOCENTS 

discussed  the  question  in  all  its  bearings  upon 
the  sylvan  spot  where  East  Broadway  and 
Grand  Street  intersect,  and  were  forcibly 
removed  —  still  discussing  it  —  by  the  crews 
of  several  stalled  cable  cars  and  an  irate 
truckman.  The  recently  united  houses  of 
Gonorowsky  were  almost  shaken  into  dis 
cord  when  Sadie  was  turned  away  as  free 
from  nasal  obstruction,  while  Eva  was 
granted  a  card  which  declared  her  to  be  in 
the  enjoyment  of  a  perfect  obstacle  race 
course  between  her  lungs  and  the  circum 
ambient  air.  Mrs.  Brennan  called  upon  Miss 
Bailey  to  explain  that,  while  her  Patrick  - 
thank  God!  —  was  free  from  any  respira 
tory  disease  more  serious  than  that  childish 
disorder  commonly  called  the  snuffles,  she 
and  Mr.  Brennan  considered  the  present 
opportunity  an  excellent  one  to  have  three 
[119] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

large  warts  removed  from  their  son's  right 
hand  and  to  ask  the  doctors  if  they  couldn't 
anyways  at  all  bleach  out  the  mole  on  his 
cheek  and  straighten  the  finger  what  was 
crooked  ever  since  his  grandfather-  "the 
saints  be  his  bed  —  let  have  at  him  with  the 
poker  an'  him  no  bigger  than  no  size  at  all 
at  the  time." 

But  it  is  an  exceedingly  good  wind  which 
blows  nobody  ill.  The  feud  between  the 
Board  of  Health  and  the  small  East  Side  prac 
titioner  is  old  and  bitter,  and  much  of  the 
alien's  sullen  distrust  of  official  relief  is  due 
to  the  efforts  of  the  man  to  whom  every  case 
of  illness  treated  gratis  by  the  Board's  rep 
resentatives  means  a  potential  patient  de 
flected  and  a  problematical  fee  turned  aside. 
Such  accustomed  interference  had  been 
hard  enough,  but  if  up-town  hospitals  were  to 
[120] 


SLAUGHTER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS 

enter  the  arena,  armed  with  internes  and 
nurses,  what  would  be  left  to  local  talent  ? 

Appointment  after  appointment  was  can 
celled  as  the  teachers  continued  their  cru 
sade,  and  parent  after  parent  explained  that 
Jacob,  or  Rachel,  or  Isidore  would  be  made 
healthy,  free  of  fifty  cent  charges,  at  school; 
until  at  last  one  worm  turned.  He  was  young 
and  ambitious  and  very  poor,  and  the  temp 
tation  to  make  a  last  effort  to  turn  his  van 
ishing  half  dollars  back  in  his  direction  was 
stronger  than  his  conscience  or  his  powers 
of  prophecy.  And  he  addressed  the  poor, 
ignorant  drudge,  who  was  the  third  in  one 
morning  to  rescind  earlier  arrangements  for 
his  attendance  upon  her  offspring: 

"So  you  choose  that  the  Christians  shall 
cut  the  throat  of  your  son.  So  be  it.  He  is  not 
my  child." 

[121] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

Instantly  the  mind  of  the  mother  leaped  to 
credit  this  worst  of  horrors.  Had  not  the 
papers  been  full  of  such  stories?  Was  not 
her  brother  even  then  crouched  in  wordless 
misery  behind  the  stove  in  her  half-roomed 
home  because  his  wife  and  their  three  children 
had  been  tortured  to  death  in  Russia  not 
six  weeks  ago  ?  Was  not  anything  possible 
except  happiness  ?  Everything  to  be  expected 
except  good  ?  In  the  quiet  of  the  house  and 
in  the  presence  of  the  angry  man  she  bore  the 
news  in  silence,  but  once  in  the  glare  and 
clamor  of  the  streets,  she  broke  into  dis 
tracted  wailing.  Tearing  her  hair,  beating 
her  breast  or  shaking  clenched  hands  at  the 
strip  of  relentless  sky  far  above  her,  she 
shrieked : 

"They  are  murdering  our  babies,  they  are 
slaughtering  our  young,  they  are  cutting 
[122] 


SLAUGHTER  OF   THE   INNOCENTS 

the  throats  of  our  children."  Instantly  she 
was  joined  by  other  mothers  as  ignorant  and 
as  fearful  as  she,  and  a  groundless  rumor, 
arising  from  one  man's  cupidity,  became  the 
bitter  cry  of  distracted  thousands. 

"They  are  murdering  our  babies,  they  are 
slaughtering  our  young,  they  are  cutting 
the  throats  of  our  children." 

The  few  mothers  whose  children  attended 
the  school  in  which  the  health  crusade  was 
in  progress,  credited  the  report  as  eagerly  as 
did  the  thousands  and  thousands  of  mothers 
whose  children  attended  other  schools  where 
the  affliction  was  unknown  or  disregarded, 
and  momentarily  the  crowd  increased  in 
fierceness  and  in  numbers.  All  through  the 
steaming  streets,  the  sweltering  tenements, 
the  rumor  spread  and,  spreading,  grew. 
The  cries  as  they  grew  louder,  grew  wilder, 
[123] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

too.  "They  are  working  for  the  Czar!  Re 
member  Kishinef !  They  are  burying  our 
children,  with  foul  rites,  in  their  cellars.  To 
the  schools !  To  the  schools !  " 

The  crowd,  unkempt,  half-clothed,  wild 
with  panic  and  tortured  by  fear,  poured  out 
into  the  narrow  streets  and  surged  and  yelled 
and  foamed  at  its  thousand  mouths.  The 
local  police  force,  taken  unawares,  was 
paralysed  and  perplexed,  for  the  cries,  when 
they  were  articulate,  were  in  Yiddish  and 
gave  no  hint  of  cause  or  chance  of  answer. 
And  presently  the  schools  were  surrounded. 

" Our  children,  our  children,"  yelled  the 
mothers;  and  threw  stones,  bricks,  vegeta 
bles  —  anything  they  could  pick  up  or  tear  up 
—  at  the  grated  windows  and  the  heavy  doors. 

In  Room  18  a  singing  lesson  was  progress 
ing  with  as  much  spirit  as  could  be  expected 
[124] 


SLAUGHTER     OF     THE      INNOCENTS 

under  the  lamentable  breathing  equipment 
of  many  of  the  class.  The  First  Readers  were 
demanding  shrilly  and  quite  uncomprehend- 
ingly:  "Oh,  say  can  you  see  by  the  dawn's 
early  light  ?"  when  the  storm  broke  against 
the  school  walls  with  a  hoarse  reverberation. 
A  stone  crashed  through  the  window,  laid 
Morris  Mogilewsky's  "fish  theayter"  waste, 
and  rolled  across  the  empty  space  toward 
Teacher's  desk.  It  promptly  stopped  the 
singing. 

"I  don't  know  what  kind  from  noise  is 
that,"  whimpered  Yetta  Aaronsohn.  "I 
never  in  my  world  heard  nothings  like  it." 

"  I  did, "  cried  that  Ulysses,  Isaac  Barrach- 
sohn.  "In  Coney  Island  the  waves  is  like 
it."  But  Teacher  knew  that  this  was  no 
moment  for  conversation.  Rather  it  was  the 
time  for  discipline,  swift  and  sharp.  The 
[125] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

howling  in  the  crowded  streets  outside  was 
beginning  to  find  echo  in  the  crowded  rooms 
within  and  hurrying  feet  clattered  through 
the  halls. 

"Stand,"  she  commanded.  "Mark  time! 
.  One,  two,  three,  four  .  .  .  Sing 
.  Columbia,  the  Gem  of  the  Ocean." 

Waver  ingly  at  first,  but  with  growing 
confidence  as  the  song  drowned  the  tumult, 
the  First  Reader  Class  obeyed.  Constance 
Bailey  wondered  what  she  would  be  called 
upon  to  face  in  the  next  few  moments. 
Something,  she  knew.  The  heavy  air  was 
full  of  threatening,  and  the  wailing  rage  of 
thousands  of  women  is  not  often  heard. 
But,  once  heard,  it  is  unlikely  to  be  forgotten. 
She  knew  that  her  duty  was  to  keep  the  chil 
dren  calm  and  ready  to  obey  orders  when 
they  should  come.  And  as  she  watched  the 
[126] 


SLAUGHTER  OF  THE   INNOCENTS 

timorous  faces  and  startled  fawn-like  eyes 
before  her,  she  found  herself  wishing,  with 
surprising  fervency,  for  the  brave  and  blue 
regard  of  Patrick  Brennan.  But  the  Leader 
of  the  Line  had  heard  of  his  parents'  prepa 
rations  for  his  Renaissance,  and  Room  18 
should  know  him  no  more  until  doctors 
should  have  come  and  gone.  His  understudy 
Abey  Ashnewsky  was  a  poor  and  tame  substi 
tute. 

The  telephone  in  the  Principal's  office  add 
ed  its  shrill  note  to  all  the  other  clamor  as 
that  over-burdened  official  communicated 
with  police  headquarters  and  with  other 
principals  similarly  besieged.  One  of  his 
staff,  a  Jewess,  stood  just  within  the  grated 
window^  and  translated  what  she  could  un 
derstand  of  the  crowd's  hoarse  demands: 

"They  want  their  children." 
[127] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

"Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't,"  snapped  the 
harassed  man.  "Are  they  giving  any  rea 
sons  ?" 

"None  clear  at  all.  There  is  something 
about  the  Czar  and  murdering  babies.  I 
don't  quite  understand.  They  seem  deter 
mined  to  get  their  children. " 

And  reports  from  other  schools  corrobo 
rating  this,  a  rapid  dismissal  was  decided 
upon. 

Miss  Bailey's  charges  were  of  the  smallest 
and  her  class,  according  to  the  regulations, 
was  the  first  to  leave  the  building.  She  had 
expected  some  such  action  and  the  First 
Readers  were  still  marking  time  with  feet  and 
hands,  and  still  chanting  patriotism,  when 
the  summons  came. 

Out  into  the  hall  she  led  them,  and  other 
children,  hearing  the  singing,  joined  in  the 
[128] 


SLAUGHTER  OF  THE   INNOCENTS 

refrain  which  spread  from  room  to  room, 
through  hall  and  stairs,  until  the  whole  build 
ing  rocked  to  it. 

Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue, 
Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue, 
The  army  and  navy  forever, 
Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue. 

When  the  First  Readers  reached  the  wide 
main  entrance  the  janitor  opened  the  doors 
and  a  roar  of  mingled  rage,  relief  and  longing 
struck  Teacher  like  a  blow.  Abey  recoiled 
before  it,  the  columns  faltered,  turned  to 
Teacher  and  she,  sunny-haired,  slim  and 
white-robed,  stepped  out  into  the  sunlight 
and  faced  the  mob,  leading  Abey  by  the  hand. 
There  on  the  highest  step  she  stood,  still 
marking  time  and  still  exhorting  by  voice 
and  gesture  the  long  lines  of  children  who 
followed  her,  clapping  their  hands,  and  all 
[129] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

singing  in  tune  or  out  of  tune,  as  the  case 
might  be: 

Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue, 
Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue, 
The  army  and  navy  forever, 
Three  cheers  for  the  red,  white  and  blue. 

The  uproar  increased  rather  than  dimin 
ished  as  the  parents  most  remote  from  the 
building  clamored  for  some  particular  child 
or  made  frantic  efforts  to  reach  the  scene  of 
action.  Several  hand  to  hand  encounters 
occurred,  several  women  fell  and  were  tram 
pled  upon,  more  missiles  were  thrown,  and 
Mr.  Brennan,  Senior,  who  was  on  duty,  re 
duced  himself  to  the  very  confines  of  apoplexy 
by  exhorting: 

"  Bulge  out  there,  bulge  out  I  tell  you,  and 
lave  the  kids  run  through  yez  and  then  bulge 
back  to  where  yez  were  agin. "  But  the  horde 
[130] 


SLAUGHTER   OF   THE   INNOCENTS 

declined  to  bulge  and  a  woman  near  him 
threw  a  jagged  brick  at  the  slim,  white 
figure  on  the  steps.  Mr.  Brennan  saw  its 
direction  and  bellowed  a  warning  to  the 
janitor: 

"Take  her  in  out  of  that,"  he  roared.  The 
janitor  was  quick  to  obey;  but  not  quite 
quick  enough. 

"They  have  struck  her,"  cried  Mr.  Bren 
nan.  "  By  the  Holy  Saint  Dennis  and  Father 
McGauley  they've  struck  the  little  lady." 

The  school  being  empty  now  of  children, 
the  doors  were  quickly  shut  and  the  rioters 
were  left  to  some  very  unreserved  treatment 
at  the  hands  of  the  police  reserves. 

Upon   the  next   afternoon  the  Principal, 

Dr.  Ingraham,  and  Miss  Bailey  were  again 

having   tea   in   Room   18.    Everything   was 

as  it   had   been  upon    the  last  occasion   of 

[131] 


WARDS     OF      LIBERTY 

such  entertaining,  except  that  the  hostess' 
right  arm  was  in  a  sling.  The  Principal's 
optimism  was  in  what  appeared  to  be  per 
manent  eclipse  and  Dr.  Ingraham  was  in  a 
smoldering  rage. 

"But  it  was  only  temporary,"  Miss  Bailey 
assured  her  hearers.  "  A  little  madness  made 
by  the  heat.  And  truly  it  is  enough  to  cause 
anything,  and  there  was  nothing  personal 
about  that  brick.  I  wager  the  woman  who 
threw  it  was  ever  so  sorry  afterwards." 

"She  ought  to  be  hanged,"  growled  the 
Doctor,  "the  lawless,  ungrateful  brute." 

"How  changeable  you  are,"  commented 
Teacher.  "  Is  hanging  the  way  to  health  ? 
And  isn't  health  your  panacea  for  all  these 
evils  ?  Health,  according  to  you  —  and 
knowledge"  -she  added,  turning  to  the 
Principal.  But  he  repudiated  the  theory. 
[132] 


SLAUGHTER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS 

"  How  are  we  going  to  give  them  knowl 
edge,"  he  questioned.  "You  saw  them  yes 
terday.  Did  they  strike  you  as  being  teach 
able?" 

"They  certainly  struck  me,"  said  Miss 
Bailey,  as  the  Monitor  of  Buttons,  in  the 
agony  of  solicitude,  adjusted  Teacher's  sling 
for  the  thousandth  time  that  day;  while  the 
Monitor  of  Window-Boxes  held  her  cup  and 
saucer,  and  the  Monitor  of  the  Goldfish 
Bowl  hung  solicitously  in  the  background. 

"Knowledge  and  health,"  the  Doctor 
repeated.  "Are  you  ready  yet  to  tell  us  the 
remedy  you  had  in  mind  ?" 

"  Every  member  of  the  class  was  here  this 
morning,"  said  Teacher.  "The  sick  children 
underwent  the  treatment  with  the  quietness 
of  the  stoic  and  the  patience  of  the  lamb. 
A  procession  of  parents  has  filed  through 
[133] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

the  room  to  explain  and  disclaim  the  events 
of  yesterday." 

"And  yet,"  said  the  Doctor.  "I  don't 
quite  see " 

"  Oh,  Teacher,  Teacher, "  whimpered  Eva 
Gonorowsky,  deserting  her  pencils  to  bestow 
smudgey  embraces  upon  Miss  Bailey's  un 
injured  side.  "  Teacher,  mine  heart  it  breaks 
the  while  your  arm  ain't  healthy.  I  am  loving 
so  much  with  you. " 

"There  you  have  it,"  said  Miss  Bailey  to 
her  visitors.  "The  third  thing  I  hinted  at 
was  love. " 

"  But  I  thought  you  didn't  believe  in  that, " 
marveled  the  Doctor,  while  the  Principal 
tactfully  withdrew. 


[134] 


A  PERJURED   SANTA   CLAUS 


A     PERJURED     SANTA     CLAUS 


"You're  crazy, "  said  Mike  Dwyer,  out  of  the 
deep  experience  of  his  eight  and  a  half  years. 
"You're  crazy,  I  tell  you. 
Nobody  gives  you  nothing 
for  nothing." 

"But  ain't  I  told  you 
that  he  does,"  his  friend 
Patrick  Brennan  assured 
him.  "Ain't  I  telling  you 
what  he  give  me  last  year  ? 
A  fire-engine,  a  prayer-book,  and  a  bag  of 
candy. " 

"An'  you  ain't  pay'd  nothin'  for  'em?" 
marveled  Mike. 

[137] 


Mike 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

"Not  a  cent." 

"Ain't  nobody  never  came  'round  to 
collect  on  'em?" 

"Not  a  one." 

Mike  pondered  a  moment  and  then  de 
manded  : 

"Have  you  got  em  now?" 

"Well,"  Pat  admitted,  "I  ain't  got  all  of 
'em,  but  I've  got  three  wheels  and  one  of 
the  horses.  The  rest  busted  when  it  fell 
off  the  fire-escape.  An'  me  mother  has  the 
prayer-book." 

"There  wasn't  any  sense  to  them  things 
anyway,"  said  Mike.  "Crazy  truck,  fire-en 
gines,  prayer-books,  and  candy.  Gee,  if  he  was 
going  to  give  youse  somethin'  why  couldn' 
he  give  you  somethin'  youse  could  use?" 

"They  wasn't  foolish,  they  was  what  I 
wanted,"  Patrick  maintained. 
[138] 


A      PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

"How  did  the  old  guy  know  what  you 
wanted  ?" 

"  Didn't  I  write  and  tell  him  ?  I  wrote 
it  on  a  piece  of  paper,  an'  I  pinned  it  to  the 
shelf  over  the  stove,  an'  he  come  down  the 
chimney  an'  got  it." 

"Down  the  chimney!"  exclaimed  Mike 
incredulously,  "that's  the  craziest  yet.  If 
you  don't  look  out  you'll  get  put  in  the 
funny  wagon.  A  lady  in  our  block,  she 
thought  her  man  was  Czar  of  Russia,  and 
they  put  her  in  the  funny  wagon  and  they 
took  her  away  and  we  ain't  never  seen  her 
again.  You  better  shut  up  about  your  old 
man  Sandy  Claws,  or  somethin'  like  that'll 
happen  to  you." 

"  Christmas  is  next  week,"  Pat  announced 
in  grim  finality.  "What  do  you  bet,  I  don't 
get  an  express-wagon  and  cap  pistol  ?  I 
[139] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

wrote  Sandy  Claws  about  'em  last  night, 
an'  put  the  letter  on  the  mantelpiece,  an' 
this  morning  it  was  gone;  and  I've  got  a 
picture  of  him  in  a  book  —  I'll  show  it  to 
you  if  you  come  round  to  our  block  —  and 
Teacher  tells  us  about  him  at  school  and  we 
know  songs  about  him,  and  po'try  pieces. 
I  tell  you  what:  you  come  to  school  just 
one  day,  an'  Teacher'll  learn  you  about  him." 

"Aw,  I  ain't  got  no  time  to  go  to  school," 
said  Mike  contemptuously.  "I've  got  my 
business  to  tend  to  and  I  guess  maybe  I'd 
better  tend  to  it  now.  But  say,  that's  a 
good  one  about  the  old  gent  coming  down 
the  chimney.  I  was  up  and  down  them  lots 
of  times  and  it's  hard  enough  for  me  to  get 
through,  and  I  ain't  much  for  size. " 

'You  come  round  to  my  house  on  Christ 
mas  Day,"  said  the  militant  Patrick,  "an' 
[140] 


A     PERJURED      SANTA     CLAUS 

I'll  leave  you  look  at  my  express-wagon  and 
hold  my  pistol." 

When  Michael  boasted  an  exhaustive 
acquaintance  with  the  inside  of  chimneys, 
he  did  not  speak  lightly  or  without  truth. 
It  was  some  years  since  he  had  abandoned 
the  scholarly  career,  which  his  pious  mother 
had  hoped  would  lead  to  his  consecration  to 
the  priesthood,  in  favor  of  the  more  active 
life  of  "odd  boy"  in  a  local  hardware  store 
where  he  was  "helper"  in  the  stove  depart 
ment.  That  he  would  ever  have  made  a 
priestly  man  was  a  moot  point,  but  no  one 
could  conscientiously  deny  that  he  was  an  odd 
boy. 

His  hair,  once  red,  was  darkened  by  his 

avocations  and  his  hygienic  convictions  to 

an   indescribable  sooty  brown.  His  clothes 

matched  his  hair,  and  his  skin  struck  no  dis- 

[141] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

cordant  note  in  the  subdued  color  scheme. 
But  there  was  nothing  subdued  about  his 
spirit,  nor  his  eyes,  nor  his  startlingly  bril 
liant  smile.  And  there  was  nothing  which 
could  subdue  his  adoration  for  his  mother. 
He  and  she  had  suffered  many  sorrows 
in  common,  and  almost  in  silence,  though 
their  pleasures  they  took  more  noisily. 
Sickness  and  babies  had  come,  had  been 
born  and  tended  in  patience,  and  had  passed 
away  leaving  them  chums  and  partners  still. 
He  and  she  had  journeyed  to  Calvary  or 
to  Coney  Island  always  together  and  al 
ways  alone.  For  Mr.  Dwyer  had  devoted 
his  great  energy  and  his  scanty  gleanings 
from  the  profession  of  "fence"  -the  go- 
between  for  small  pickpocket  and  pawn 
broker  —  to  drinking  himself  from  one  fit 
of  delirium  tremens  into  another.  He  was 
[142] 


A      PERJURED     SANTA     CLAUS 

as  familiar  an  inmate  of  Bellevue  or  the 
Island  as  he  was  of  the  home  which  he  had 
laid  desolate.  As  familiar  and  as  welcome. 

On  the  evening  of  his  enlightening  con 
versation  with  his  staunch  admirer,  Patrick 
Brennan,  Michael  appealed  to  his  mother 
for  information. 

"  Say,  maw,  did  youse  ever  hear  of  a  gent 
what  goes  round  in  sort  of  fancy  fixin's  an' 
gives  kids  things  for  noth'ng  ?" 

Mrs.  Dwyer  turned  from  the  window, 
whence  she  had  been  watching  for  what 
she  always  dreaded,  and  answered  quickly: 

"Yes,  dear.  Santa  Claus." 

:<  That's  the  name  Patsy  Brennan  called 
him.  He  showed  me  his  picture  on  a  book, 
but  I  thought  he  was  guying  me.  I  never 
heard  of  him.  Don't  he  never  come  round 
here?" 

[143] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

"Not  lately,  dear.  But  when  you  were 
quite  little,  he  brought  you  a  rocking-horse 
and  a  fire-engine. " 

"That's  him!"  her  son  exclaimed  in  high 
excitement.  "I  knew  him  by  the  fire-engine. 
That's  him.  Say,  maw,  what  ever  happened 
to  them  things  ?  Did  I  bust  'em  ?" 

"No,"  answered  the  woman,  who,  still 
watchful,  had  transferred  her  vigilance  from 
eyes  to  ears,  and  now  listened  shrinkingly 
for  an  unsteady  step  upon  the  stairs:  "No, 
Mike,  you  didn't;  they  —  went. " 

It  was  a  familiar  explanation  in  that 
house,  but  the  woman  never  made  it  easily. 
So  many  things  —  went.  The  few  relics 
of  her  more  prosperous  youth,  her  street 
clothes,  little  refinements  with  which  she 
tried  to  dignify  or  disguise  her  poverty, 
little  comforts  or  necessities  given  by  kind 
[144] 


A      PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

neighbors  in  times  of  stress,  her  own  meager 
earnings  in  an  uptown  laundry,  or  Mike's, 
still  more  meager  in  the  hardware  store. 
For  Mr.  Dwyer,  though  meeting  in  the 
course  of  his  professional  labors  with  many 
proofs  that  stealing  could  be  successfully 
practised  upon  absolute  strangers,  still  be 
lieved  in  the  prior  claim  of  family,  and  had 
so  far  confined  his  own  active  operations  to 
the  home  circle.  It  was  a  safe  practice  ground 
and  he  could  always  flatter  himself  that  he 
would  one  day  broaden  his  field  to  include 
such  gentlemen  —  if  he  could  find  them  en 
tirely  unprotected  and  unobserved  -  -  who 
had  reached  that  degree  of  intoxication 
which  raised  his  envy  and  his  courage  al 
most  to  the  point  of  action. 

Nothing  could  accustom  Mrs.  Dwyer  to 
this  system  of  petty  pilfering  and  the  deceits 
[145] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

it  forced  upon  her,  for  through  all  vicissi 
tudes  of  neglect,  ill-treatment,  and  abuse, 
she  persevered  in  her  fierce  determination 
that  the  boy  should  never  know,  so  long 
as  she  could  keep  the  knowledge  from  him, 
his  father. 

And  all  the  time  the  boy  knew  much  more 
clearly  than  she,  and  was  often  forced  to 
allow  her  panic-stricken  vigilance  to  con 
tinue  when  he  could  have  told  her  that  the 
voice  she  dreaded  was  enlivening  the  al 
coholic  wards  of  Bellevue,  or  that  the  foot 
she  feared  was  marching  in  decorous  lock- 
step  upon  Blackwell's  Island.  But  he  was  as 
fiercely  resolved  that  his  mother  should 
never  know,  so  long  as  he  could  keep  the 
knowledge  from  her,  her  husband,  and  he 
was  always  careful  to  receive  this  explana 
tion  as  satisfying  and  quite  natural. 
[146] 


A      PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

"  Well,  Patrick  was  talkin'  about  it  to 
day.  He  got  a  fire-engine,  candy,  an'  a 
prayer-book,  an'  he  says  he's  goin'  to  have 
a  express-wagon  an'  a  pistol  this  time.  Do 
you  think  it's  on  the  level  ?" 

"Of  course  it's  true.  Why,  when  I  was 
your  age  he  used  to  bring  me  the  loveliest 
things,  and  they  always  seemed  to  be  ex 
actly  what  I  wanted  - 

"But  Patsy  writes  an'  tells  him  what  to 
bring.  He  gits  what  he  wants  every  time. 
I  wonder  what  I'd  better  write  for  ?" 

And  then,  wistfully,  Mrs.  Dwyer  set  to 
work  to  destroy  the  faith  she  had  estab 
lished.  It  was  unlikely,  she  pointed  out  to 
her  son,  after  a  rapid  survey  of  her  own  finan 
cial  position,  that  the  gentleman,  having 
for  so  long  neglected  them,  should  remem 
ber  them  now.  He  was  always,  she  delicately 
[147] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

hinted,  a  little  snobbish  in  his  tastes,  and  was 
more  inclined  to  add  to  a  store  already 
amassed  than  to  lay  the  cornerstone  of  a 
property.  But  these  reflections  affected  her 
son  not  at  all. 

"He  give  you  stuff  when  you  was  as  big 
as  me.  He  gives  it  to  Patsy.  He  used  to  give 
it  to  me.  I  guess  I  kin  git  somethin'  off  of 
him  all  right,  all  right. " 

Then  was  Mrs.  Dwyer  forced  to  disclose 
the  fact  that  there  were  some  persons  of  up 
right  lives  and  minds  who  utterly  refused  to 
credit  even  the  existence  of  such  a  person, 
and  to  hint  that  doubts  of  such  a  nature 
had  sometimes  visited  her  gentle  breast. 
But  Mike's  faith,  founded  largely  upon  the 
coincidence  of  fire-engines,  held  firm  against 
all  attacks.  And  then  he  knew  of  a  reason, 
happily  hidden  from  his  mother,  that  might 
[148] 


A      PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

cause    fastidious    gentlemen    to    avoid    Mr. 
Dwyer's  abode. 

On  the  next  afternoon  he  came  upon 
Santa  Glaus  suffering  quite  humanly  from 
cold,  standing  at  the  corner  of  Grand  and 
Essex  Streets,  wearing  his  white  beard  and 
other  "fancy  fixin's."  He  was  guarding 
a  three-legged  iron  pot  into  which  the  pros 
perous  cast  pennies  and  the  unprosperous  - 
in  overwhelming  majority -- longing  looks. 
The  pot  hung  upon  a  metal  tripod  bearing 
a  printed  appeal  for  contributions  to  aid 
the  Salvation  Army  in  supplying  a  Christ 
mas  dinner  to  all  such  as  should  approach 
the  hospitable  boards  to  be  spread  in  Madi 
son  Square  Garden  on  December  25th.  The 
shower  of  coin  was  not  very  heavy  and  Mike 
seized  his  courage  and  a  propitious  moment 
to  remark: 

[149] 


A      PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

"You  don't  get  round  to  all  the  houses 
every  year,  do  you  ?" 

"Well  no,"  answered  the  old  gentleman 
in  a  surprisingly  young  voice,  "not  down 
here.  There  are  quite  a  number  of  houses 
in  this  neighborhood  and  quite  a  number  of 
children  in  every  house." 

"Every  other  year,  do  you  ?" 

"Just  about." 

"Well,  you've  skipped  me  quite  a  while. 
I  was  wondering  if  you  was  plannin'  to  take 
in  our  house  this  year. " 

"Sure,"  the  old  man  answered,  after  he 
had  acknowledged  a  contribution  and  breath 
ed  upon  his  freezing  fingers,  "where  do 
you  live  ?" 

Mike  told  him.  "  On  the  top  floor, "  he  am 
plified,  "back.  If  you  drop  around  to-night, 
I'll  have  the  list  ready  on  the  mantelpiece. " 
[151] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

"Please  don't  make  your  order  too  big. 
I'm  a  little  strapped  this  year.  You  don't 
want  a  house  an'  lot,  do  you  ?" 

"No,  but  I'd  like  a  lady's  hat,"  the  boy 
announced,  "  an  I'd  like  some  real,  good  tea, 
an'  I'd  like  a  good,  warm  shawl.  Can  I  have 
all  that?" 

"Sure,"  Santa  Glaus  agreed,  "anything 
you  say,  my  boy.  You're  the  doctor. " 

"Then    I'd    like   enough    dress-goods    to 
make  a  dress  for  a  lady  —  a  small  lady  - 
I'd  like  it  red  with  black  spots  on  it.  Can 
I  have  that?" 

"Oh,  I  guess  so.  I  owe  you  something  for 
back  years,  don't  I?" 

"  I  might  let  you  have  a  little  money  on  the 
goods.  Not  an  awful  lot,  but  if  fifteen  cents 
would  help  you  any  I  could  let  you  have  it. " 

"Fork  it  out,  put  it  in  the  pot." 
[152] 


A     PERJURED      SANTA     CLAUS 

"I  can't  let  you  have  it  now.  I  ain't  got 
it  in  me  clothes,  but  I'll  put  it  with  the  list 
on  the  mantelpiece  to-night,  and  you  come 
down  an'  git  'em.  Say,  a  kid  told  me  you 
come  down  chimneys.  Is  that  right  ?" 

"  That's  how  I  come  when  I  come. " 

"  How  do  you  git  through  the  stove  ? 
That's  what  I  want  to  know,"  said  Mike, 
with  professional  interest. 

"Well,  I  can't  tell  you  that.  You  don't 
belong  to  the  union.  And  don't  you  wait 
up  for  me.  I  may  be  a  little  late,  and  if  that 
fifteen  cents  is  there  in  the  morning  you'll 
know  it's  because  I  can't  fill  your  order. 
I  just  have  to  look  over  my  stock,  you  know, 
before  I  take  a  deposit  on  the  goods. " 

After  one  hour  of  intense  exertion,  mental 
and  physical,  Michael  evolved  the  list; 
laid  it  upside  down  upon  the  mantelpiece; 
[153] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

weighted  it  with  three  five-cent  pieces; 
cautioned  his  mother  against  disturbing  it, 
and  vanished  into  his  sleeping-closet.  Mrs. 
Dwyer  bent  over  the  pathetic  little  scrawl 
and  scanned  it  tearfully.  This  tiny  rift  of 
fancy  in  her  boy's  prosaic  life  was  doomed 
to  such  bitter  disappointment,  and  she  was 
so  powerless  to  prevent  it.  And  even  as 
she  read  the  list  of  feminine  fancies,  and 
knew  them  designed  for  her,  the  vigil  of 
the  last  three  peaceful  weeks  ended.  The 
heavy  step  she  dreaded  sounded  on  the  stairs. 
The  heavy  hand  she  dreaded  turned  the 
handle  of  the  door,  and  Mr.  Dwyer,  in  a 
state  of  intoxication  very  creditable  to  one 
without  popularity  and  without  steady  source 
of  income,  lurched  in.  He  ignored  empty 
forms  of  greeting,  and  began  at  once  upon 
the  object  of  his  visit. 

[154] 


A      PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

"Where's  that  boy  of  yours?"  he  de 
manded.  "Where's,  where  is  he?"  and 
then  as  she  did  not  answer,  he  enforced  his 
question  with  a  curse  which  made  her  re 
treat  behind  the  table.  Her  posture  as  she 
crouched  there  was  more  eloquent  than  any 
words. 

"Never  here  when  I  want  him";  Mr. 
Dwyer  rambled  on  in  one  of  the  rapid 
emotional  changes  common  to  his  state. 
"Never  any  good  to  me.  Never  stands  a 
drink  to  hard-working  father.  Rotten  with 
money,  that  kid,  and  never  a  nickel  for 
suffering  parent.  Suffering,  incurable  par 
ent.  Where's  he  now?"  he  repeated  with 
a  fresh  oath  which  terrified  the  woman  into 
the  monosyllabic  lie : 

"Out," 

"Always  out,"  complained  Mr.  Dwyer, 
[155] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

aggrieved  almost  to  tears.  "Hard-working 
father  come  home,  wants  see  ungrateful 
son;  wants  press  his  hand,  wants  give  him 
father's  blessing,  dying  father's,  dying  bless 
ing,  not  here." 

In  keen  appreciation  of  his  own  mournful 
eloquence,  Mr.  Dwyer  made  his  shivering 
way  to  the  stove,  and  maudlin  in  his  grief, 
laid  his  head  upon  the  mantelpiece  and  wept 
miserably.  Now  it  chanced  that  his  des 
pondency  led  him  to  his  desire,  and  that 
he  had  no  sooner  bowed  his  forehead  in  sor 
row  than  he  raised  it  in  joy.  There,  under 
his  eyes,  lay  three  nickels  on  a  dingy  piece 
of  paper.  Three  nickels  meaning  much 
stimulant  and  unlimited  free  lunch.  Gloat 
ingly  he  wrapped  the  coins  in  the  paper,  and 
pocketed  them,  and  straightway  he  de 
camped,  leaving  his  wife  shaken  with  fear, 
[156] 


A      PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

repugnance  and  wrath  and  tortured  by  that 
old,  old  question,  What,  what,  could  she  tell 
the  boy  ?  What  could  she  ever  tell  the  boy  ? 
She  fell  asleep  in  her  chair  still  wondering. 
And  in  the  morning  she  told  the  boy  - 
nothing. 

The  days  that  remained  before  Christmas 
were  full  of  breathless  excitement  to  Mike. 
He  made  all  sorts  of  vague  promises  to  his 
mother.  He  asked  her  again  and  again  if, 
in  the  event  of  her  having  an  entirely  new 
gown,  she  shouldn't  prefer  one  of  a  good, 
bright  red  with  black  spots.  He  planned 
excursions  for  her.  Wouldn't  she  like  to  go 
to  High  Mass  on  Christmas  Day  ?  What 
were  her  views  on  a  visit  to  the  Eden  Musee  ? 
Did  any  of  the  current  theatrical  attractions 
appeal  to  her  ?  Wouldn't  a  red  dress  with 
black  spots  be  the  most  suitable  thing  to 
[157] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

wear  when  they  should  go  to  see  that  classic 
drama,  "The  Withered  Wedding  Wreath"  ? 

He  even  condescended  to  discuss  Heaven 
ly  visitants  with  Patrick  Brennan,  and  to 
hint  at  the  nature  of  his  demands.  The  idea 
of  vicarious  generosity  was  new  to  Patrick, 
but  he  adopted  it  with  energy  and  pinned 
a  new  list  to  the  mantelpiece.  It  puzzled 
his  always  puzzled  parents,  for  it  com 
manded  a  set  of  doll's  dishes  and  a  silver 
thimble,  extra  small  size. 

In  the  grey  dawn  of  Christmas  morning, 
Mike  was  astir,  and  there  upon  the  mantel 
piece  he  found,  not  the  red  and  black-spotted 
gown,  not  the  shawl,  not  the  hat,  but  a  very 
shield  and  buckler  of  an  Ascot  tie,  imper 
vious  to  pin  or  tenpenny  nail,  and  of  a 
most  becoming  yellow.  For  some  space  he 
was  dumfounded,  absolutely  speechless  with 
[158] 


A     PERJURED      SANTA     CLAUS 

disappointment.  "  He  played  me  for  a  sucker 
and  he- won  out,"  was  his  vengeful  thought. 
"He's  got  me  good  money,  an'  I've  got  his 
dirty  truck.  I  ain't  goin'  to  stand  for  no  such 
deal."  His  abhorrence  of  the  yellow  Ascot 
distressed  his  gentle  mother,  for  the  satin 
atrocity  represented  to  her  many  an  act  of 
self-denial,  many  an  hour  of  work  or  even  of 
hunger.  He  refused  to  touch  it;  to  allow  it  to 
touch  him;  to  see  any  beauty  in  its  shiny  im- 
passiveness  or  to  agree  that  it  was,  after  all,  a 
satisfactory  proof  of  the  existence  of  the  old 
gentleman.  Upon  the  whole  that  Christmas 
morning  could  not  be  said  to  have  brought 
peace  and  good-will  to  the  modest  home  of 
the  Dwyers. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  Michael  came  upon 
Patrick    Brennan    seated    in    his    express- 
wagon,  flourishing  his  cap  pistol  and  being 
[159] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

drawn  through  the  crowds  of  Henry  Street 
by  a  young  lady  who  wore  on  the  thumb 
of  her  uncovered  right  hand,  a  silver  thimble 
—  extra  small  size.  Almost  instantly  the 
two  Hibernian  gentlemen  appeared  to  be  at 
sword's  points.  And  Miss  Gonorowsky, 
waiving  the  ceremony  of  a  formal  intro 
duction,  was  all  voluble  concern. 

"It's  something  fierce,"  Eva  sympathized. 
"In  all  my  world  I  ain't  heard  how  it  is 
fierce.  He  takes  bunches  of  money  from 
off  of  you  and  don't  gives  you  nothings  only 
neckties  that  you  don't  needs. " 

"That's  what  he  done, "  said  Mike  grimly. 
"He  played  me  for  a  sucker." 

"Und  mit  Patrick,"  Eva  continued,  "he 

makes  all  things  what  is  polite.  He  gives 

him   cap    pistols,  und    wagons,    und    doll's 

dishes,  und    thimbles  —  Patrick    gives    me 

[160] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

the  dishes  und  thimbles.  From  long,  a 
man  makes  like  that  with  my  papa.  He 
takes  money  und  he  don't  send  goods,  and 
my  papa  he  goes  where  judges  and  lawyers 
sets  and  they  arrests  the  man  and  they 
makes  him  he  shall  give  back  the  money  on 
my  papa.  Do  you  know  where  them  judges 
und  lawyers  sets  ?" 

Michael  pondered  on  the  suggestion.  He 
was  familiar  with  the  workings  of  the  law,  and 
had  assisted  at  evictions,  man  hunts,  raids 
and  riots,  and  had  often  been  present  at  the 
Essex  Market  Police  Court  when  his  own 
disreputable  father  stood  before  the  magis 
trate.  On  the  following  morning,  therefore, 
he  approached  the  court-house  and  demand 
ed  audience  with  the  judge,  who  had  always 
taken  a  kindly  interest  in  his  small  for 
tunes.  And  Mr.  Dwyer,  senior,  never  knew 
[162] 


A      PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

that  his  commitments  were  somewhat  longer 
than  his  offenses  demanded,  simply  be 
cause  the  judge  was  interested  in  the  strug 
gle  which  a  small,  honest-eyed  boy  was 
making,  and  had  endeavored  to  remove  — 
as  effectually  as  might  be  —  the  stumbling- 
blocks  or  the  stumbling  parent  which  stood 
in  his  way.  Michael's  charge  was  explicit: 

"  A  swell  guy  wid  white  whiskers  done  me 
dirt,"  he  announced. 

"Go  on,"  said  the  judge,  as  the  clerk  of 
the  court  prepared  to  record  the  testimony, 
and  some  ladies  in  search  of  local  color  got 
out  their  note-books. 

"  Go  on,  what  did  he  do  to  you  ?  " 

"He  took  an  order  for  goods,  he  took  me 
coin,  and  he  delivered  this  here  necktie." 

"A   very   fine   necktie.    It   seems    warm, 
and  it  ought  to  be  becoming." 
[163] 


A      PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

"It  ain't  what  I  ordered,"  said  Mike, 
"and  it  ain't  what  I  wanted." 

"What  was  your  order?"  asked  the 
majesty  of  law. 

"A  lady's  hat,  some  good  tea,  a  lady's 
shawl,  and  black  and  red  dress-goods  for 
a  lady's  dress  —  a  small  lady. " 

The  clerk  of  the  court  made  careful  entry 
of  this  haberdashery,  and  the  ladies  in  search 
of  local  color  marveled  audibly  until  the 
judge  restrained  them. 

"A  yellow  satin  necktie,"  he  solemnly 
agreed,  "does  not  occur  in  this  invoice,  but 
I  should  think  it  might  perhaps  be  a  little 
more  useful  to  you. " 

"  Me,"  exclaimed  the  boy,  in  quick  scorn. 
"  Say,  did  youse  think  I  wanted  them  fixin's 
for  me  ?" 

"For  some  friend,  perhaps  ?" 
[165] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

"I  wanted  them  things  for  me  mudder," 
Michael  asserted  belligerently.  "She's  too 
much  in  the  house,  she  is.  I  want  to  take  her 
to  the  theayter,  and  round  to  see  the  sights, 
and  show  her  a  little  life. " 

"  Bless  his  heart, "  murmured  an  emotional 
tourist  from  the  upper  West  Side.  "  Bless  his 
little  heart  of  gold." 

"Madam,"  the  judge  sternly  reminded 
her,  "  this  is  the  court-room  —  not  a 
church";  and  then  of  the  boy,  he  asked: 

"How  large  a  deposit  did  you  send  with 
this  invoice  ?" 

"  I  left  fifteen  cents  for  him  with  the  order 
and  he  came  and  got  it." 

"And  you  don't  regard  the  yellow  satin 
necktie  as  covering  that  amount  ?" 

"It  ain't  worth  nothin'  at  all,  'cause  I 
don't  want  it.  I  want  the  things  I  ordered 
[166] 


A      PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

or  I  want  me  money  back,  an'  I  want  you 
to  arrest  that  Foxy  Gran'pa,  an'  make  him 
act  on  the  level." 

"For  whom  shall  I  issue  the  warrant. 
What  is  the  name  of  the  accused  ?" 

"Sandy  Claws.  That's  his  name.  An' 
Mr.  Sandy  Claws  is  a  crook  for  fair. " 

There  was  a  fresh  outbreak  on  the  part 
of  the  fair  pilgrims  from  the  West  Side,  and 
the  judge  quelled  them  sternly: 

"Mr.  Crothers,"  he  began,  addressing  one 
of  the  lawyers,  who  had  been  an  interested 
spectator  of  the  scene,  "may  I  ask  you 
to  attend  to  this  case  ?  The  clerk  will  hand 
you  a  copy  of  the  original  invoice  and, 
until  we  locate  the  accused,  the  expenses 
will  be  defrayed  by  the  court. " 

The  harassed  Mr.  Crothers  was  ruefully 
examining  the  list  when  one  of  the  tourists 
[167] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

stepped  forward  and  asked  permission  to 
address  the  court.  She  had  borne  no 
part  in  the  recent  enthusiasm,  she  looked 
capable  and  calm.  The  judge  folded  his 
arms  and  nodded  acquiescence  and  she 
laid  a  card  before  him.  He  waited  with 
a  new  consideration  until  she  began  to 
speak,  and  the  card's  effect  upon  both  Mr. 
Crothers  and  the  clerk  of  the  court  was 
remarkable. 

"I  am,  as  you  see,"  she  began,  "the 
representative  of  Mr.  Santa  Glaus." 

"I  have  often,  Madam,"  said  the  judge, 
"  heard  of  you  in  that  connection,  but  your 
name  occurs  most  frequently  upon  the 
records  of  the  court  much  higher  than  this. " 

"  And  we  were  obliged  to  take  on  a  num 
ber  of  new  packers  for  the  holiday  rush  sea 
son  and  regret  that  several  mistakes  of  this 
[168] 


A     PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

sort  have  occurred.  The  gentleman  who 
ordered  this  necktie  called  at  the  warehouse 
early  this  morning  and  reported  that  some 
lady's  furnishings  had  been  left  at  his  apart 
ment.  It  is  altogether  regrettable,  as  the 
gentleman  had  planned  to  wear  these  goods 
at  his  wedding  yesterday,  and  in  consequence 
of  their  non-delivery  was  obliged  to  retain 
his  overcoat  throughout  the  ceremony.  He 
was  very  indignant,  and  Mr.  Santa  Glaus 
was  greatly  distressed.  If  this  customer  will 
withdraw  his  complaint  and  if  the  court  will 
grant  me  the  custody  of  the  goods  now  in 
his  possession,  I  shall  see  that  the  mistake  is 
rectified." 

The  judge  turned  to  Michael,  whose 
naturally  sharp  expression  had  grown  stead 
ily  sharper  since  the  intervention  of  this 
alien  female. 

[169] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

"Do  you  agree  to  this  proposition?"  he 
asked. 

"Naw,"  said  Mike,  "I  don't.  An',  yer 
honor,  don't  let  her  bunco  you  like  the  old 
gent  done  me.  He  fooled  me  out  of  me 
fifteen  cents  but  the  old  lady  don't  get 
nothing  as  long  as  she  don't  give  me  nothin'. 
They's  all  in  the  same  gang,  I  tell  you.  If 
they  think  such  a  awful  lot  about  the  gent's 
yellow  tie,  why  don't  they  bring  me  mudder's 
hat,  an'  tea,  an'  shawl,  an'  dress-goods  ? 
I'll  trade  quick  enough." 

"I  should  suggest,"  was  the  urbane  ruling 
of  the  bench,  "that  this  plan  be  adopted. 
I  will  set  over  this  hearing  for  two  hours, 
and  I  direct  that  both  the  plaintiff  and  the 
representative  of  the  defendant  shall  then 
appear  before  me.  Next. " 

Throughout  the  hearing  of  intervening 
[170] 


A      PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

cases,  Michael  held  the  disprized  necktie 
with  watchful  care.  It  shone  like  a  slab 
of  petrified  butter  through  its  tissue  paper 
wrappings.  The  transaction  was  evidently 
puzzling  him  a  little,  and  his  eyes  narrowed 
suddenly  with  new  suspicion  when  the  lady 
reappeared,  still  calm  and  still  alert,  followed 
by  Mr.  Crothers,  still  impressed,  but  now 
laden  with  bundles. 

The  judge  reopened  the  case  by  ordering 
that  the  bundles  should  be  opened  and  their 
contents  compared  with  the  list,  and  sub 
mitted  to  Mike.  They  were  all  perfectly 
satisfactory,  and  Mike,  still  puzzled,  released 
the  yellow  necktie  and  gathered  up  his 
treasures.  The  lady  was  the  first  to  leave 
the  court-room,  and  Mike  paused  for  a  last 
word  with  his  friend. 

;<Your  honor,"  said  he,  "do  you  think 
[171] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

the  old  gent  tried  to  work  a  con  game  on 
me  ?  It  don't  seem  to  me  like  all  this  song 
and  dance  about  mistakes  was  on  the  level. " 

"Oh,  I  think  so,  Michael,"  the  judge  re 
plied.  "I  have  heard  of  Mr.  Santa  Claus 
for  a  number  of  years,  and  I  never  knew  him 
to  get  into  trouble  before." 

"Well,  maybe  you're  right,"  agreed  Mike, 
"but  the  thing  looks  funny  to  me.  It  seems 
to  me  like  the  lady  was  in  the  game  with 
the  old  gent.  Perhaps  she's  his  wife;  you 
can't  tell,  and  she  got  scared  that  you  and 
me  would  pinch  their  joint.  It  is  good  I 
came  to  see  you.  And  say,"  he  cried,  "you 
seen  me  mudder  once,  didn't  you?"  And 
the  judge's  memory  traveled  back  to  his 
one  ineffectual  attempt  to  induce  a  panic- 
stricken  little  woman  to  testify  against  her 
useless  husband.  No  array  of  brass  buttons 
[172] 


A      PERJURED      SANTA      CLAUS 

or  of  officialdom  could  force  her  to  admit 
discord  in  the  music  of  their  life.  Terrified 
but  loyal,  she  resisted  all  cross-examining 
and  persisted  in  denying  to  all  her  world 
what  all  her  world  knew. 

'Yes,"  said  the  judge,  "I  remember." 
"Well,"  Mike  continued,  "she  wasn't 
feeling  just  right  that  day.  But  just  the 
first  time  I  can  get  an  hour  off,  I'll  get  her 
to  fix  up  in  these  here  fixin's  and  I'll  bring 
her  round  and  let  you  see  how  she  can  look. 
She  sure  is  a  daisy. " 

"Do,"  said  the  judge,  "I  shall  be  honor- 
ed.    Next." 


[173] 


LITTLE  BO-PEEP 


LITTLE     BO-PEEF 

"  Say,  Teacher,  what  you  think  ?"  demanded 
Eva  Gonorowsky,  oblivious  to  everything 
save  the  marvelous  news  which  had  bubbled 
all  day  beneath  her  butterfly  bow:  "What 
you  think?  Little  Bo-Peep  is  cousins  mit  me.5' 

"That  must  be  very  nice,"  Miss  Bailey 
responded.  No  geneological  announcement 
could  surprise  her  since  Abraham  Abraham- 
owsky  had  claimed  kinship  with  Abraham 
Lincoln.  "That  must  be  very  nice,  dear." 

"It's  awful  nice,"  said  Eva.  "She  lives 
now  in  Russia,  only  it  ain't  healthy  for  her 
there  no  more,  und  so  she  comes  soon  on  my 
house." 

[177] 


"'Will  she  bring 
her  sheeps  mit?'  in 
quired  Morris  " 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

:<  W  i  1 1  she  bring  her 
sheeps  mit  ?"  inquired  Mor 
ris  Mogilewsky,  whose  pas 
sion  for  Nature  Study 
persisted  through  all  sorts 
of  discouragements.  "  I  likes 
I  shall  see  a  sheep,  all  in 
one,  mit  its  hair  on.  I  ain't 
never  seen  that." 

"I  guess  she  brings  it  all  right,  all  right. 
She  is  lovin'  much  mit  amblins.  In  Russia 
her  papa  is  got  more'n  fifty  hundred  und 
three  lambs,  und  fifty  million  und  six  sheeps. 
Und  mine  little  cousins  she  plays  all  times 
mit  lambs.  She  is  like  me.  She  is  all  the 
childrens  what  her  mama's  got.  She  brings 
her  papa  und  her  mama,  too." 

"Is  her  papa  got  elflints  ?  "  asked 
Morris. 

[178] 


LITTLE      BO-PEEP 

"Is  his  name  Barnum?"   asked  Patrick 
Brennan. 

But  Eva  was  conversing  with  Miss  Bailey 


"Little  Bo-Peep  'her  picture  what  comes  out  of  Russia13'' 

and  refused  to  be  distracted.  "Mine  uncle 
is  awful  rich,  und  mine  cousin  is  awful  sty 
lish.  You  could  to  look  on  her  picture  what 

[179] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

comes  out  of  Russia.  She  is  mine  rich  und 
stylish  cousin." 

Rich  and  stylish  the  youngster  certainly 
looked.  Hard  ruffles  of  stiff  lace  encrusted 
all  her  velvet  outlines;  rings  and  bracelets 
adorned  her  pudgy  hands;  her  coiffure  was 
incredible,  and  her  air  was  self-conscious. 
Two  lambs  were  stiffly  posed  at  her  feet,  and 
she  held  a  beribboned  shepherd's  crook  in 
her  jeweled  grasp. 

"  Bo-Peep  indeed ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Bailey. 

"Und  she  ain't  lost  them  sheeps  't  all. 
'  She  let  'em  alone  und  they  comes  by  the 
house,'  '  quoted  Morris,  who  loved  facts 
above  rhythm. 

"Rich  und  stylish,"  repeated  Eva  unctu 
ously.  "Sheeps  is  all  the  style  in  Russia 
this  year. " 

"I'm  got  a  kitten,"  volunteered  Saran 
[180] 


LITTLE     BO-PEEP 

Schodsky.   "They  is   stylish,  too";  but  no 
one  seemed  impressed. 

The  advent  of  that  cousin  affected  all  the 
relations  of  Eva's  life.  She  was  a  possession 
to  be  lived  up  to,  and  Eva's  spirit  exalted 
itself  daily  to  reach  the  standard  fixed  by 
the  photograph.  She  carried  it  with  her  al 
ways,  and  in  imagination  she  marched  her 
friends  and  companions  past  the  gaudy 
little  figure  and  watched  them  shrivel  into 
insignificance.  Even  her  own  Sabbath  finery 
lost  its  power  to  uphold  her  through  un 
adorned  week-days,  and  the  gleam  of  Pat 
rick's  official  costume  grew  dim. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  pondered,  as  loyalty 
did  battle  with  reason,  "  I  don't  know  what 
is  the  style  in  Russia.  Mine  cousin  could 
to  think  that  Patrick  is  rowdy,  und  Yetta  is 
poor,  und  mine  best  dress  is  old." 
[181] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

One  of  these  fears  was  shared  by  Mrs. 
Gonorowsky,  who  straightway  devoted  some 
of  her  scanty  funds  and  leisure  to  the  con 
struction  of  a  toilet  which  should  spare  Eva 
the  agony  of  "shamed  feelings"  when  the 
stylish  cousin  should  arrive.  Teacher  was, 
of  course,  informed;  shown  the  sample  of  the 
much  washed  adult  skirt  which  was  to  be 
the  new  costume's  chief  ingredient;  was  even 
allowed  to  contribute  lace  for  its  neck  and 
sleeves,  wide  ribbon  for  its  sash,  and  to  be 
present  at  a  dress  rehearsal. 

Week  after  week  dragged  itself  across  the 
calendar  on  Miss  Bailey's  desk,  and  brought 
no  stylish  cousin  out  of  Russia  to  share  the 
seat  and  the  heart  which  Eva  had  emptied 
for  her.  She  cast  away  all  such  treasures 
and  friendships  as  were  unsuited  to  one  set 
apart  to  associate  with  rank  and  fashion. 
[182] 


LITTLE      BO-PEEP 

The  broken   tin   soldiers,   the   labyrinth   of 
string,  the  fragmentary  china  doll,  and  its 


"  '  Yetta,  you  could  to  take 
mine  dolly  .  .  .  I  ain't 
got  no  more  time  no  more  I 
shall  play  mil  nobody  on'y 
mine  little  cousin  mil  lambs 

.   .  You  ain't  got  mads  ? ' ' 

cradle  which  had  once  been  a  baby's  shoe, 
she   bestowed    upon    that    element    of    her 

[183] 


WARDS    OF    LIBERTY 
acquaintance  with  which  she  felt  constrained 
to  part,  with  some  such  little  speech  as : 

"Yetta,  you  could  to  take  mine  dolly, 
the  while  I  ain't  got  no  more  time  for  play 
mit  her.  I  ain't  got  no  more  time  no  more 
I  shall  play  mit  nobody  on'y  mine  little 
cousin  mit  lambs  what  comes  out  of  Rus 
sia.  I  am  loving  much  mit  you,  Yetta, 
and  I  am  loving  much  mit  mine  dolly, 
on'y  I  couldn't  to  play  no  more  mit  nobody 
on'y  mine  cousin  und  lambs.  You  ain't  got 
mads?" 

"Can  I  have  the  dolly's  bed,  too  ?"  Yetta 
demanded,  before  disclosing  her  emotional 
condition. 

"Sure  you  can,  und  two  pieces  from 
pencils." 

"An'  a  string  for  mine  hair  ?"  insisted  the 
usurer. 

[184] 


LITTLE     BO-PEEP 

"Two  strings." 

"Then  I  ain't  got  mads,"  Yetta  conceded. 
"I  have  kind  feelings." 

Only  Patrick  refused  to  let  either  threats 
or  bribes  affect  him.  He  entirely  misunder 
stood  Eva's  anxiety  and  even  increased  it  by 
his  attitude  of  admiring  protection. 

"  It  don't  make  no  difference  to  me  if  you 
have  got  a  greenhorn  cousin,"  he  assured 
her.  "It  makes  no  difference  at  all.  Why, 
I'd  just  as  lieves  treat  the  two  of  youse  to 
hoky-poky  —  if  I'd  the  penny  —  an'  I  tell  ye 
no  one  would  dast  to  guy  yer  cousin  if  I  was 
'round." 

And  Eva's  heart  whispered:  "He  don't 
puts  him  on  so  stylish  as  mine  cousin,  but 
anyways  his  papa  is  cops,  and  Patrick's  best 
suit  is  got  from  sure  gold  buttons. " 

Every  morning  she  appeared  despairing 
[185] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

and  in  her  ordinary  attire;  toward  lunch- 
time  her  spirits  and  her  expectations  reached 
fever  heights;  at  one  o'clock  she  returned 
to  Room  18  crestfallen;  but  at  three  o'clock 
she  was  all  jubilant  again  and  trotted  off 
with  the  rank  and  file  of  the  First  Readers 
as  though  she  were  not  a  member  of  the 
cabinet. 

And  so  no  one  was  surprised  when,  one 
morning,  she  failed  to  answer  to  the  roll-call. 
Miss  Bailey  rejoiced  that  her  favorite's 
long  vigil  was  over  and  the  First  Reader 
Class  glued  its  eyes  upon  the  door  and 
prepared  to  have  them  dazzled.  Yet  the 
morning  passed  uneventfully  away.  One 
o'clock  came;  Eva  did  not,  and,  as  the  next 
day  brought  no  sign  of  her,  Miss  Bailey  went 
to  investigate,  remonstrate,  and  congratulate. 
Eva  opened  the  door;  but  such  a  crushed, 
[186] 


LITTLE      BO-PEEP 

tear-stained,  white-faced  Eva!  Teacher 
promptly  gathered  her  up  and  held  her 
against  the  shoulder  that  had  been  her  refuge 
in  so  many  lesser  griefs. 

"What  is  it,  sweetheart  ?"  she  questioned. 
"Didn't  the  stylish  little  cousin  come  out 
of  Russia  ?" 

Eva  clasped  her  frantically.  "It  ain't 
cousins,"  she  wailed.  "It  ain't  stylish.  It 
ain't  Bo-Peep.  I  ain't  never  seen  nothing 
like  it.  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  on'y  I  have 
a  fraid,  I  have  a  fraid,  I  have  a  fraid !" 

"Is  your  mother  in?"  asked  Teacher, 
when  she  found  she  could  not  bring  Eva  to 
anything  like  self-control.  "Tell  her,  dear, 
that  I  want  to  speak  with  her,"  and  she  set 
the  child  upon  the  floor  and  tried  to  reduce 
her  to  some  semblance  of  the  smart  Monitor 
of  Pencil  Points.  Eva  crept  to  the  door  of 
[187] 


What  is  it,  sweetheart?  Didn't  the  stylish  little  cousin 
come  out  of  Russia?'  " 


LITTLE      BO-PEEP 

the  dark  closet  which  was  bedroom,  store 
room,  dressing-room  —  everything  which  the 
single  outer  room  was  not  —  and  beat  upon 
it. 

"Mama!  Mama!"  she  panted,  and  then 
cowered  behind  Teacher  and  hid  her  eyes  in 
Teacher's  dress. 

The  door  opened  slowly,  and  Mrs.  Gono- 
rowsky  came  quietly  out.  Constance  Bailey 
had  heard  of  anguish  and  despair,  but  she 
had  never  seen  them  until  she  met  Mrs. 
Gonorowsky's  eyes. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  was  all  she  could  say.  "  Oh, 
Mrs.  Gonorowsky,  what  is  it  ?  Didn't  your 
people  come  ?" 

"  The  little  girl  comes  "  -  Mrs.  Gonorow 
sky  was  beginning,  when  Eva,  her  hands 
still  before  her  eyes,  broke  out  - 

"It  ain't  little  girls.  It  ain't  cousins.  It 
[189] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

ain't  got  no  lambs.  I  don't  know  what  it  is, 
but  I  have  a  fraid  over  it. " 

"But  your  sister  and  her  husband?" 
asked  Miss  Bailey. 

"They  don't  comes,"  said  Mrs.  Gono- 
rowsky.  She  was  quite  passive,  and  yet 
Constance  had  often  seen  her  in  hysterics 
of  neighborly  vituperation.  "They  don't 
never  comes,"  she  repeated  dully. 

"And  the  child  came  all  alone  ?" 

"A  friend  from  mine  sister  und  from  me, 
he  brings  her  on  the  house.  You  like  you 
shall  see  her,  maybe.  You  don't  needs  you 
shall  ask  over  mine  sister  sooner  you  looks 
on  that  child." 

"It  ain't  no  child,"  wailed  Eva.  "It  ain't! 
It  ain't!  It  ain't!  I  wants  mine  stylish  little 
cousin  what  I  had  pictures  off  of. " 

Teacher  followed  Mrs.  Gonorowsky  into 
[190] 


LITTLE      BO-PEEP 

the  tiny  inner  room,  lighted  only  by  a  candle 
and  not  aired  at  all,  and  there  on  a  heap  of 
clothing  lay  a  creature  -  -  Eva  was  right :  it 
was  not  a  child  —  who  gazed  blankly  at 
them.  Its  head  had  been  shaved,  perhaps 
on  the  steamer,  perhaps  to  escape  identifi 
cation,  and  its  lips  never  stopped  moaning, 
panting,  whispering  one  sentence. 

"That  is  the  child,"  said  Mrs.  Gonorow- 
sky  simply. 

"But  what  is  she  saying?"  queried  Con 
stance.  "Is  she  asking  for  any  one  ?" 

"She  says,"  Mrs.  Gonorowsky  interpret 
ed,  "  'I  am  Christian!  I  kiss  the  Cross!' 
They  learn  her  to  say  that.  I  show  you  how 
they  learn  her,"  and  she  took  the  little  body 
on  her  lap  and  began  to  unswathe  the  ban 
dages  in  which  it  was  wrapped.  The  back 
was  uncovered  first. 

[191] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

"I  kiss  the  Cross!"  shrieked  the  baby  as 
the  last  dressing  was  removed.  "I  kiss  the 
Cross !" 

"The  knout,"  said  Mrs.  Gonorowsky, 
very  quietly.  "We  learn  to  know  its  mark, 
we  women  of  the  Jews.  Now  see  another  way 
they  learn  her,"  and  she  deftly  turned  the 
child  upon  its  back. 

"  Oh,  God  in  Heaven !  Did  men  do  that  ?" 
cried  Constance  Bailey. 

"Christian!"  moaned  the  baby.  "I  kiss 
the  Cross!" 

"Und  you  ask  where  is  her  mama?" 
commented  Mrs.  Gonorowsky. 

A  week  passed  before  Eva  came  again  to 
Room  18;  but  Miss  Bailey  had  seen  her  fre 
quently  during  the  interval  and  had  done 
what  she  could  to  pave  the  way  for  her  re 
turn.  Eva's  cousin,  she  explained  to  the 
[192] 


*  TJie  knout,'  said  Mrs.  Gonorowsky,  very  quietly " 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

First  Readers,  had  been  ill  and  could  not 
be  expected  to  shine  resplendent  in  foreign 
fashions  for,  perhaps,  a  month;  and  Eva, 
upon  her  return,  was  not  to  be  questioned 
or  bothered.  Miss  Bailey  was  very  serious 
and  very  earnest  in  these  commands,  and 
the  First  Readers  swore  to  do  her  bidding 
and  almost  did  it  when  Eva  slipped  into  her 
accustomed  place  in  her  accustomed  clothes. 

"It  ain't  cousins,"  she  whispered  to  Miss 
Bailey.  "It  ain't  girls,  und  it  ain't  got  no 
lambs,  but  I  finds  a  kitty  on  the  street  und 
I  gives  it  to  it,  und  I  ain't  got  no  more  a  fraid 
over  it.  Last  night  I  gives  it  a  hair  ribbon,  und 
it  smiled.  It  began  to  have  a  glad,  so  I  ain't 
got  no  more  f  raids. " 

Gradually  the  reports  grew  more  cheering ; 
until  one  day  the  cousin  came  to  school.  Eva 
led  her  in  in  triumph,  and  Miss  Bailey,  who 
[194] 


One  day  the  cousin  came  to  school.  Eva  led 
her  in  in  triumph  " 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

was  accustomed  to  many  pitiful  appeals  to 
her  understanding  of  small  hearts,  now 
found  herself  quite  speechless  as  she  turned 
to  greet  this  newest  charge.  The  baby  was 
still  heartbreakingly  thin;  but  her  eyes  were 
gentle  and  human;  her  shaven  head  was 
covered  with  a  fluted,  lace-trimmed  baby's 
bonnet;  a  miserable  kitten  was  clasped  in 
her  arms,  and  she  wore,  oh,  miracle  of  loving 
kindness !  Eva's  reception  gown.  Of  course, 
she  spoke  no  word  of  English,  but  at  Eva's 
whispered  injunction  she  entrusted  a  little 
hand  to  Teacher's  clasp  and  allowed  herself 
to  be  established  at  Eva's  side. 

"  Und  any  way, "  said  the  Monitor  of  Pen 
cil  Points,  as  she  surveyed  her  new  relation, 
"und  any  way  she  don't  look  like  nobody 
else  und  the  childrens  could  to  think,  maybe, 
that  caps  from  babies  is  the  style  in  Russia." 
[196] 


LITTLE      BO -PEEP 

After  that  she  came  every  day,  and  grad 
ually  the  strained  look  left  her  little  face, 
and  once  or  twice,  as  Eva  pointed  out  to 
Miss  Bailey,  she  smiled.  And  all  went 
well  in  Room  18;  until  the  evil  day  set 
aside  by  the  Board  of  Health  for  the  vac 
cination  of  the  scholars  in  that  particular 
school. 

Even  then  disaster  might  have  been  avert 
ed  if  Miss  Bailey  had  not  been  obliged  to 
stay  in  Room  18  with  the  majority,  while 
little  squads  of  five  or  six  were  taken  to  the 
Principal's  Office  to  be  examined  and,  if 
needs  were,  vaccinated,  bandaged,  and  re 
turned  to  their  teachers  in  pride  or  in  hysterics 
as  their  sex  or  nature  prompted.  It  was  near 
ly  three  o'clock  when  Eva,  Patrick,  the  new 
cousin,  the  kitten,  and  two  of  the  rank  and 
file  set  out  together,  and  they  had  not  been 
[197] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

more  than  ten  minutes  absent  when  Patrick 
came  dashing  back. 

"Gimme  me  hat,"  he  cried  as  he  dived 
under  his  desk.  "  Gimme  me  hat !  That  fool 
Greeny  run  away." 

Miss  Bailey  wasted  no  time  in  setting  out 
for  the  scene  of  excitement,  and  on  the  way 
encountered  Eva  Gonorowsky  quite  dis 
tracted. 

"Oh,  Teacher!  Teacher!"  she  wailed. 
"Mine  cousin  she  runs  on  the  block,  und 
she  don't  know  where  she  is,  und  she  don't 
know  where  she  lives,  und  she  don't  know 
nothings.  She  couldn't  to  talk,  even. " 

"Oh,  the  poor  child!  Why  should  she 
run  away?" 

"I  couldn't  to  tell,"  said  Eva.  "I  holds 
her  in  mine  hand.  On'y  sooner  she  seen  how 
the  doctor  makes  blood  come  out  of  Sarah 
[198] 


LITTLE      BO-PEEP 

Schodsky,  she  yells  something  fierce  over 
crosses  und  Christs,  und  she  runs  on  the 
street." 

Down  to  the  big  door  rushed  Eva  and 
Miss  Bailey;  but  there  was  no  sign  of  the 
white-bonneted  stylish  cousin  in  all  the  mov 
ing  crowd.  They  were  just  in  time  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  vanishing  Patrick  Brennan; 
and  surely  no  knight  of  old  had  ever,  for  a 
lady's  sake,  pricked  his  way  on  a  more  peril 
ous  adventure  than  this  small  knight  of 
Ulster  had  embarked  upon.  Miss  Bailey 
hurried  back  to  her  kingdom,  dismissed  her 
class,  and  followed  Patrick's  example.  Mrs. 
Gonorowsky,  Mr.  Brennan,  pere,  Morris 
Mogilewsky,  Yetta  Aaronsohn,  in  fact  the 
whole  executive  of  Room  18,  joined  in  the 
quest;  but  far  in  advance  of  them  all  fared 
Patrick  Brennan. 

[199] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

"I  sure  am  up  against  it,"  he  communed. 
"What  would  de  gang  tink  if  dey  seen 
me  wastin'  me  time  chasin'  a  darn  fool 
Greeny  ?" 

Meanwhile  the  greeny  was  adrift  on  a 
sea  of  troubles.  The  panic  in  which  she  left 
the  school  grew  momentarily  worse.  Every 
thing  terrified  her,  but  nothing  stopped  her; 
and  her  pursuers  heard  many  disquieting 
rumors  of  her  flight. 

"A  little  girl  in  a  cap  ?"  said  the  police 
man  on  the  corner  of  Henry  and  Essex 
Streets,  in  answer  to  Miss  Bailey's  inquiry: 
4  Yes.  I  seen  her  runnin'  to  beat  the  band 
towards  the  river.  I  stopped  her  long  enough 
to  ask  her  where  she  was  going,  and  she 
tore  out  of  me  hands  like  an  eel  and  told  me 
something  in  Yiddish.  'Twas  none  of  my 
business  if  she  wanted  to  do  steeplechases 
[200] 


LITTLE    BO-PEEP 

over  and  under  the  push-carts,  and  so  I  let 
her  go.  She  had  a  kitten  with  her. " 


"'A  little  girl  in  a  cap?'  said  the  policeman     .     . 
seen  her  runnin'     .     .     .     towards  the  river 


Yes.  I 


'Yes.  She  went  by  here,"  said  the  jani 
tor  of   a  neighboring  school.   "She  looked 
[201] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

so  little  and  so  scared  that  I  tried  to  stop  her, 
but  that  seemed  to  scare  her  worse,  and 
so  I  let  her  go.  She  was  going  towards  the 
river."  But  no  one  could  direct  them  to 
the  darkness  between  an  uptilted  push-cart 
with  one  wheel  and  the  wall  against  which 
it  leaned,  where  little  Bo-Peep  crouched,  one 
tiny  incarnation  of  terror.  She  watched, 
through  the  crack  where  cart  met  sidewalk, 
the  feet  of  her  pursuers.  Thousands  of  them 
passed,  and  yet  others  always  followed. 
Some  went  briskly,  as  though  they  still  had 
far  to  go.  Some  moved  more  slowly  as 
guessing  their  quarry  to  be  near.  Some  stood 
in  sodden  groups,  as  having  discovered  her 
hiding-place  and  knowing  that  they  might 
seize  her  when  they  would.  It  was  only  by 
frantic  repetitions  of  her  exorcism  that  she 
averted  a  thousand  deaths.  "I  am  Chris- 


LITTLE     BO-PEEP 

tian,"  she  whispered  to  the  cold  stones  upon 
which  she  cowered.  "  I  am  Christian,  I  kiss 
the  Cross."  And  the  feet  always  passed. 

Most  terrifying  of  all  were  a  pair  of  feet 
-  enormous,  heavy-shod,  and  turned  up 
at  the  toes --which  went  deliberately  and 
noisily  across  her  field  of  vision  time  and 
time  again.  Above  the  ponderous  feet  a 
section  of  blue  trousers  showed,  as  Mr. 
Brennan,  pere,  patrolled  his  beat  and  ques 
tioned  every  possible  informant.  Once  a 
pair  of  small  and  shiny  shoes  held  parley 
with  these  heavy  ones  just  beside  the  push 
cart. 

"Still  no  news  ?"  asked  Constance  Bailey. 

"None   at  all,   miss.   The  earth   opened 

and   swallowed   her.    A   couple    of   women 

seen   her   running  along   here  towards    the 

river.  A  man  on  the  corner  seen  her  turn 

[203] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

down  this  block.  But  what  became  of  her, 
I'm  durned  if  I  know.  But  don't  you  git 
worked  up  about  it:  them  kids  always  turns 
up.  '  Let  them  alone  and  they'll  come  home,' 
as  the  song  says." 

At  the  juncture  of  East  Broadway  and 
Clinton  Street,  Miss  Bailey  encountered 
Mrs.  Gonorowsky. 

"Mine  Gott!"  wailed  that  distracted 
matron.  "Ain't  you  find  her  ?" 

"No,"  answered  Constance,  "but  I  saw 
a  man  who  had  seen  her. " 

"Every  one  seen  her,"  cried  Mrs.  Gon 
orowsky.  "  O'ny  nobody  wass  smardt  enough 
they  shall  stop  her.  Everybody  says :  '  Sure, 
I  seen  a  girl  mit  kittens  und  baby's  hats. 
She  runs  by  the  river.' 

Out  of  the  crowd  of  Grand  Street,  Patrick 
bore  down  upon  them. 

[204] 


LITTLE      BO-PEEP 

"The  whole  gang  is  chasin'  her,"  he 
panted.  "  One  of  the  fellers  seen  her  makin' 
fer  de  river.  Don't  youse  fuss.  We'll  git  her. " 
Always  that  ominous  phrase  "towards  the 
river. "  Yet  there  was  no  trace  of  the  fugitive 
along  the  dirty  docks  and  warehouses  of  the 
river-front.  Stevedores  and  loungers  were  ac 
costed  in  vain.  Neighboring  police  stations 
had  heard  nothing  of  her.  Gouverneur 
Hospital  had  no  news  of  her.  And  so  the 
short  afternoon  faded  into  evening. 

Meanwhile  the  baby,  cold,  hungry,  torn 
by  fear  and  sobbing,  clung  to  her  patch  of 
darkness  until  all  the  world  grew  dark. 
The  kitten  had  long  ago  escaped  from  her 
strangling  embrace,  and  she  was  utterly 
desolate.  And  gradually  a  fear  greater  than 
all  those  which  she  had  endured  crept  over 
her  and  benumbed  all  lesser  fears  into  one 
[205] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

unreasoning  panic.  She  was  afraid  of  the 
dark.  She  was  out  in  the  dark.  Alone. 

So  little  Bo-Peep  crept  out  of  her  hiding- 
place  and  lost  herself  in  the  dreaded  crowd. 
Back  and  forth  she  strayed  in  search  of  light, 
but  still  in  quaking  terror  of  people.  She 
was  clinging  to  the  bright  window  of  a 
gloriously  illuminated  glass  house  on  a 
corner  when  a  woman  stopped  and  accosted 
her  in  the  old  familiar  language,  but  with  an 
unfamiliar  harshness. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?"  she  demand 
ed.  "Don't  you  know  that  you  ought  to  be 
in  bed  ?  Go  home  to  your  mother,  you  bad 
little  girl.  She  will  be  watching  for  you. " 

Little  Bo-Peep  shrank  into  an  empty  hall, 

and  the  woman  went  upon  her  preoccupied 

way.      But  there  was  no  rest  for  the  small 

fugitive.  Feet  were  still  searching  for  her. 

[206] 


LITTLE     BO  -PEEP 

They  began  to  come  down  the  dirty  stairs, 
and  they  drove  her  blindly  on  again,  out  into 
the  night. 

Light  without  people  was  now  her  prayer, 
and  presently  she  found  a  narrow  window- 
less  lane  at  the  further  end  of  which  a  light 
burned  dimly,  over  a  door  hung  all  askew. 
The  lane  was  long,  and  it  seemed  easier  to 
crawl  than  to  fall  so  often,  but  at  last  she 
reached  the  step  under  the  light,  where  there 
were  no  people  and  where  the  sound  of  the 
pursuing  footsteps  came  very  faintly. 

When  she  awoke,  she  was  in  the  dark 
again.  "Mother,  mother,"  she  whimpered, 
as  her  baby  habit  was.  But  her  head  rested 
upon  cold  stone,  and  no  reassuring  arm  en 
folded  her.  Terror  took  her  for  its  own  again, 
and  she  was  scrambling  to  her  feet,  when  a 
familiar  sound  arrested  her.  Pressed  close 
[207] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

to  the  door,  she  listened  with  her  whole  small 
body.  Yes,  she  was  right.  It  came  again,  a 
soft  "crunch,  crunch,  crunch."  Little  Bo- 
Peep  pressed  her  nose  to  a  crack  and  sniffed 
cautiously.  Again  she  was  right.  There  were 
soft  breathings  in  the  dark  enclosure;  soft 
movings ;  and  as  she  wondered,  a  wavering 
bleat  changed  quickly  to  a  soft  whinny  of 
contentment. 

The  space  between  the  gate  and  the 
threshold  was  cruelly  narrow,  and  the  baby, 
despite  all  Mrs.  Gonorowsky's  care,  still 
bore  the  marks  of  her  conversion  red  upon 
her.  But  outside  the  gate  were  fear  and 
darkness,  and  inside  there  was  Home. 

And  very  early   on   the   morning   of  the 

next  day,  the  local  Rabbi  coming  to  make 

his  inspection,  as  by  Jewish  law  prescribed, 

found  a  limp  little  figure  in  the  corner  far- 

[208] 


LITTLE      BO-PEEP 

thest  from  the  gate.  The  face  in  its  border  of 
limp  muslin  frills  was  white  and  still,  and  a 
deep  stain  was  stiffening  and  darkening  all 
Eva's  reception  gown  —  even  the  nearest 
fleece  was  red.  But  little  Bo-Peep  had  found 
Home  at  last,  and  had  lain  down  to  sleep 
with  her  lambs. 


[209] 


THE  WILES  OF  THE  WOOER 


THE     WILES       OF     THE     WOOER 

A  store  in  Grand  Street  was  the  goal  towards 
which  Mr.  Goldstone  had  been  crawling 
through  many  dark  and  devious  ways  and 
years.  What  wife  and  children  were  to  other 
men,  his  business  was  to  him,  and  he  dwelt 
happy  and  solitary  in  a  neighboring  garret 
conscious  of  no  unfulfilled  desire,  for  his 
name  glittered  in  pleasing  though  unstable 
porcelain  letters  upon  the  window  of  his  em 
porium  and  was  repeated  in  gold  and  black 
above  its  door.  "Samuel  Goldstone,"  he 
knew  the  larger  letters  spelled,  though  he  was 
quite  unlearned  in  English  print  or  script. 
"Samuel  Goldstone";  and  then,  in  smaller 
[213] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

type,  the  explanatory  if  ambiguous  phrase, 
"Ladies,  Gents,  Houses  and  Children  Fur 
nished  at  Reduced  Rates." 

Within  the  store  he  had  accumulated 
great  treasure  from  the  wrecks  of  neighbor 
ing  and  rival  concerns,  from  fire  sales,  from 
sheriff's  sales,  from  auctions,  and  even  from 
enterprising  burglars.  To  guard  and  dis 
tribute  his  hoard  he  had  secured  a  cash- 
registering  machine,  a  young  lady  and  a 
young  gentleman.  The  machine  took  care 
of  the  money,  the  young  lady  "furnished" 
the  ladies  and  children,  the  young  gentle 
man  ministered  to  the  gents  and  houses, 
while  Mr.  Goldstone  stood  proudly  upon  the 
sidewalk  and  chanted: 

"Step  right  in,  lady;  step  right  in!  This 
is  our  bargain  day.  Ladies  furnished.  All 
the  latest  styles.  Babies  and  children  at  half. 
[214] 


THE     WILES      OF     THE      WOOER 

Step  right  in!  This  is  the  place  for  big 
values!" 

And  the  lady,  weakly  yielding  to  his 
persuasions,  or  to  the  detaining  hand  with 
which  he  reinforced  them,  would  find  herself 
simultaneously  and  suddenly  in  the  shop 
and  in  the  way.  For  the  two  assistants,  young, 
lonely,  and  often  idle,  found  time  for  many 
a  confidential  interview  between  onslaughts 
upon  the  customers  delivered  into  their 
hands. 

It  was  an  afternoon  in  early  October.  The 
store  was  empty,  a  confidential  interview 
was  in  progress ;  Esther  Mogilewsky's  golden 
head  rested  against  a  pile  of  "flannel  oppor 
tunities,"  as  she  listened  absorbed,  en 
tranced,  while  Isaac  Blumberg,  scholar  and 
salesman,  read  aloud  in  the  clear  voice  which 
had  won  him  a  medal  at  a  recent  night-school 
[215] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

oratory  competition.  He  read  of  the  fall 
sales  of  larger  establishments  as  set  forth  in 
that  morning's  paper. 

"And  think  of  this,  Miss  Mogilewsky!" 
he  cried.  "Moleskin  three  quarter  length 
coats  at  $1,000!  Think  of  it!  And  last 
week  they  were  $999.  The  Fur  Trust,  of 
course!" 

Esther  wrinkled  her  pretty  forehead  in 
obedient  effort,  but  since  she  had  been  but  a 
few  years  in  America  and  had  never  heard 
of  a  mole,  her  reflections  led  her  no  further 
than  that  Mr.  Blumberg  was  a  learned 
youth  and  that  Mr.  Goldstone's  store,  with 
its  counters  along  each  side  and  its  center 
tables  piled  high  with  bargains,  was  a 
pleasant  place.  But  Mr.  Goldstone's  face, 
as  he  peered  suddenly  over  the  "Sacrificed 
All-from-Wool  Underwear,"  could  hardly 
[216] 


THE     WILES     OF     THE     WOOER 

be  called  pleasant,  and  during  the  next  few 
minutes,  in  a  mixture  of  English  and  Yiddish, 
with  copious  profanity  in  both,  he  favored 
his  assistants  with  startling  versions  of  their 
biographies  for  that  they  had,  as  they  guiltily 
came  to  understand,  allowed  two  potential 
shoppers  to  escape  unshopped.  In  vain 
Esther  wept.  In  vain  Isaac  explained  and 
apologized.  Mr.  Goldstone  set  an  extrava 
gant  value  upon  the  possible  outlay  of  the 
lost  quarry  and  vowed  to  deduct  it  from  the 
wages  of  his  staff. 

"A  lady  mit  no  hat  und  a  vorn  vaist! 
For  the  vaist,  forty-seven  und  a  half  cents; 
for  the  hat,  sixty-nine  und  three-fourths 
cents.  That  money  you  lose  me.  Und  a  little 
girl  mit  no  shoes  und  stockings.  For  the  shoes, 
thirty-five  cents;  for  the  stockings -- ain'd 
you  lucky  we're  sellin'  off  our  stockings  ? 
[217] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

—  seven  und  a  half  cents.  That  you  lose 
me,  too.  That  is  altogether  one  dollar  fifty- 
nine  und  three-fourths  cents.  You  pay  me 
each  half.  That  you  pay  for  foolin' !" 

"He  wasn't  foolin'.  He  was  readin'." 
Esther  interrupted,  loyally. 

"Und  ain'd  readin'  foolin'  ?"  sneered  the 
boss.  "Readin'  is  vorse  than  foolin'.  I  charge 
you  extra,  maybe,  for  readin'.  Und  what 
foolishness  was  you  readin'  ?" 

And  so,  to  divert  his  attention  and  to 
stem  his  eloquence,  they  told  him.  Isaac 
read  of  liquidation  sales,  of  clearances,  of 
special  importations,  of  glove  sacrifices,  of 
a  lace  week  and  of  a  hosiery  event.  The  eyes 
of  the  listening  Mr.  Goldstone  glittered  with 
a  new  purpose. 

'You   read   'em  good,"   he  commented. 
"Can  you  write  'em  too  ?" 
[218] 


THE     WILES      OF      THE      WOOER 

"'Sure,"  answered  Isaac  proudly. 

Gradually  the  name  of  Samuel  Goldstone 
spread  throughout  the  East  Side.  It  began 
to  appear,  heralding  clearances,  cut  rates 
and  other  words  of  charm,  in  the  polyglot 
papers  —  English,  Russian,  Polish  and  Jew 
ish  —  most  popular  in  the  district.  So  elo 
quently  did  Isaac  paint  the  advantages  which 
ladies,  gents,  houses,  and  children  must 
derive  from  being  furnished  by  Samuel 
Goldstone,  that  the  public,  which  had  fought 
wildly  against  physical  persuasion,  yielded 
in  weak  hordes  to  the  magic  of  the  pen. 

Then  did  mad  self-reviling  and  vain  re 
grets  rend  the  bosom  of  Mr.  Blumberg.  He 
had  destroyed  his  Eden,  had  made  confi 
dential  interviews  impossible,  solitude  un 
known.  The  shop  was  never  empty  now. 
Esther  never  at  leisure,  himself  rarely  free 
[219] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

from  women  who  wanted  to  see  the  "broken 
sets  of  china"  or  the  "cuts  in  curtains"; 
from  the  men  who  wanted  to  buy  either  the 
groundwork  or  the  accessories  to  their 
costumes.  But  he  quickly  found  that  there 
were  trials  more  searching  than  attendance 
upon  the  men  who  demanded  furnishing. 
The  articles  of  strictly  masculine  nature 
were  in  what  he  proudly  called  his  "provi 
dence,"  but  over  the  co-sartorial  ground  of 
gloves  Esther  presided. 

It  was  when  he  first  saw  her  with  a  brew 
ery-driver's  huge  hand  between  her  two 
slender  ones  as  she,  greatly  to  her  customer's 
delight,  tried  innumerable  and  inordinately 
large  gloves  upon  it,  that  he  realized  how 
dear  she  was  to  him  and  how  inimical  to  his 
desire  the  patronage  of  the  sterner  sex  might 
prove.  From  that  day  the  advertisements  of 
[220] 


THE     WILES      OF     THE      WOOER 

Samuel  Goldstone's  emporium  threw  heavy 
emphasis  upon  the  ladies,  the  children  and 
the  houses,  but  slighted  or  ignored  the  gents. 
From  that  day,  too,  there  was  a  new  warmth 
in  Isaac's  few  conversations  with  his  collea 
gue,  and  a  new  sting  in  his  remorse  as  he 
noticed  her  growing  weariness  and  pallor. 
The  boom  increased.  The  expurgated 
advertisements  continued.  One  morning 
Esther,  coming  early  to  the  store,  found  a 
black-browed,  black-haired,  smiling  and 
waxen  lady  hiding  coyly  behind  the  door 
and  making  an  urgent  though  silent  appeal 
for  the  services  of  a  maid.  Miss  Mogilewsky 
had  reduced  her  to  the  borders  of  conven 
tionality  before  Mr.  Blumberg  arrived,  and 
together  they  made  place  for  her  in  th^e 
crowded  window,  hung  a  price  upon  every 
garment  of  her  attire,  and  drove  a  stupendous 
[221] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

trade.  She  drew  smiling  attention  to  the 
"Sappho  skirt  with  tailor  tucked  circular 
flounce  effect,"  which  Esther  had  dexter 
ously  fitted  to  the  slender  figure;  to  the 
"millinery  opening,"  of  which  she  wore  a 
sample  upon  her  dainty  head;  to  the  "Pride 
of  the  Avenue  Bolero  Eton  Jacket,"  which 
afforded  so  alluring  a  vista  of  the  "Reduced 
Ladies'  Like-Linen  Shirt-waist"  beneath. 

Mr.  Goldstone  was  delighted  with  the 
new  acquisition.  She  smiled  at  him  gently 
through  the  window,  and  was  profitable  as 
well  as  ornamental.  He  lavished  affection 
and  bargains  upon  her,  and  it  became  Miss 
Mogilewsky's  duty  and  pleasure  to  array  her 
in  varied  but  always  gorgeous  attire.  When 
the  weather  allowed  it  was  his  custom  to 
request  the  honor  of  the  young  person's 
society  upon  the  sidewalk,  and  for  these 


THE     WILES     OF     THE      WOOER 

occasions  she  had  a  purple  street  costume, 
gloves,  veil  and  muff  complete,  and  was 
most  carefully  watched  over  by  her  admiring 
owner. 

Esther  had  dressed  her  one  morning  in 
full  bridal  regalia  —  a  sale  of  ladies'  light 
weight  dresses  was  in  progress  —  and  had 
then  withdrawn  the  screen  behind  which 
these  rites  were  performed  and  called  Isaac 
to  inspect  and  to  set  prices  on  the  glowing 
vision.  It  was  early  and  they  were  alone. 

"Beautiful!"  he  cried.  "Beautiful!  But 
when  I  think  of  a  bride  she  is  not  like 
this." 

"What  is  mit  her?  Ain'd  she  fine?" 
Esther  urged.  "Ain'd  she  stylish?  Ain'd  I 
fix  her  right?" 

:<  You  fixed  her  out  o'  sight,  Miss  Mogilew- 
sky  —  out  of  sight.  But  her  hair  is  too  dark. 
[223] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

When  I  think  of  a  bride  her  hair  is  always 
golden." 

"So?  "asked  Esther. 

:<Yes,  so.  Black-eyed  and  golden-haired 
she  is,  the  girl  I  love." 

"So,"  repeated  Esther,  with  a  gasp. 

"Yes,  so.  And  some  day  when  I  have  a 
store  with  my  name  on  it  I  will  tell  her  how  I 
love  her  and  it  will  be  our  partnership  store  — 
mine  and  Esther's.  Her  name  will  be  on  it  too." 

"So,"  sighed  Esther,  happily.  Her  Eng 
lish  was  limited,  but  her  eyes  were  eloquent. 

Isaac's  wooing  had  reached  this  happy 
but  unsettled  point  when  a  new  difficulty 
arose.  On  a  day  when  "  A  holocaust  of  Laces, 
designed  for  the  costumes  of  European 
royalty  and  secured  by  our  special  Paris 
representative,"  had  been  featured,  the 
crowd  was  so  dense  that  Mr.  Goldstone  first 
[  224  ] 


THE     WILES     OF     THE     WOOER 

pressed  into  service  Miss  Mogilewsky's  small 
nephew,  who  had  come  to  the  store  with  the 
lunch  for  which  she  had  not  found  time  to 
go  home,  and  had  then --the  clamor  con 
tinuing  —  been  constrained  to  desert  his 
post  upon  the  sidewalk  and  to  assume  charge 
of  the  center  tables.  There  he  did  some 
eccentric  measuring  of  laces,  and  juggling  of 
change,  and  so  much  did  he  appreciate  the 
opportunities  of  an  indoor  career  that  he 
determined  to  devote  all  his  time  to  it.  To 
that  end  he  hung  upon  the  breast  of  the 
waxen  lady,  over  the  "Facings  of  pure  silk, 
emphasized  with  applications  of  Zaza  braid 
and  outlined  with  French  dots,"  a  card  bear 
ing  the  legend: 

WANTED 

A   STRONG   PULLER-IN 
ITALION   MAN 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

The  strong  Italian  man  applied,  dozens 
of  him,  some  with  heavy  Tipperary  brogues. 
Mr.  Goldstone  selected  one  and  was  repaid 
by  such  an  influx  of  indignant  and  shang 
haied  customers  as  he  had  never  been  able 
to  corral.  But  then  he  had  never  been  "  likely 
heavy-weight  material,"  had  never  swung  a 
shillalah  at  an  Irish  fair  —  was  not,  in  short, 
astrong  Italian  "  puller-in,"  born  in  Kilcashel 
and  trained  in  the  Fourth  Ward. 

Mr.  Goldstone  was  now  at  leisure  to  study 
the  internal  economy  of  his  establishment. 
For  a  few  days  he  suffered  the  pangs  of 
despised  love,  for  his  dark-browed  divinity 
turned  her  back  persistently  upon  him  in 
the  pursuit  of  her  calling,  but  he  soon  came 
to  Mr.  Blumberg's  way  of  thinking,  and  saw 
that  the  changing  graces  of  Esther  Mogilew- 
sky  were  more  attractive  than  the  fixed, 


THE     WILES      OF     THE      WOOER 

even  if  amiable,  complaisance  of  his  former 
favorite.  And  Isaac,  seeing  that  he  had 
added  a  dangerous  rival  to  the  list  of  his 
miseries,  cursed  the  days  he  had  learned  to 
write  and  had  laid  this  accomplishment  at 
his  employer's  service. 

Upon  an  evil  day  Mr.  Goldstone  bought, 
at  some  incredible  discount,  the  stock  of  a 
small  manufacturer  of  men's  fleece-lined 
gloves,  and  commanded  that  an  advertise 
ment,  setting  forth  their  beauty  and  comfort, 
their  economy  and  "single  spear  backs," 
should  be  sent  to  all  the  papers.  "A  great 
man's  week"  was  to  be  inaugurated.  The 
ladies,  the  children  and  the  houses  were  to 
be  thrust  into  the  background.  All  the 
emphasis  and  the  lime-light  of  publicity 
were  to  be  centered  upon  the  nobler  sex. 
Fleece-lined,  single-spear-back  gloves,  with 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

divertisements  of  fancy  vests,  Ascots,  rubbers, 
and  flannels,  were  to  form  the  moral  of  Isaac's 
contribution  to  the  press. 

But  the  tried  spirit  of  Mr.  Blumberg 
revolted.  His  poet's  vision  showed  him  the 
store  full  of  men,  Esther  at  the  service  of 
men,  Esther  smiling  upon  men;  himself 
fitting  rubbers  to  the  feet  of  men,  and  Esther 
looking  upon  him  in  that  position.  It  was 
more  than  he  could  endure.  But  Mr.  Gold- 
stone  was  not  lightly  to  be  disobeyed.  Only 
through  guile  could  his  commands  be  set  at 
naught,  and  the  evil  star  of  Mr.  Blumberg 
showed  him  a  way  of  keeping  the  shop  empty 
of  men  and  Esther  at  leisure  to  listen  to  his 
suit. 

Isaac  wrote  the  advertisement  in  his  most 
fluent  style.  It  bristled  with  capital  letters, 
it  painted  the  Ascots  and  the  vests  in  every 


THE     WILES     OF     THE     WOOER 

color  of  the  rainbow,  it  represented  the 
heating  power  of  the  gloves  and  flannels  as 
equal  to  that  of  tons  of  coal.  It  was  a  triumph, 
and  Mr.  Goldstone  made  elaborate  prepara 
tions  for  the  expected  multitude.  The  black- 
haired  young  person  in  the  window  was 
coyly  smiling  in  the  most  fancy  of  the  fancy 
vests,  the  most  vivid  of  the  four-in-hands, 
the  smallest  of  the  calorific  gloves,  and  she 
carried  in  the  hollow  of  her  arm  a  discreetly 
folded  scarlet  bundle.  Miss  Mogilewsky 
wore  an  "almost  alpaca  Irene  shirt-waist, 
with  modish  stock,"  and  Mr.  Blumberg 
gleamed  in  specimens  of  all  the  "features," 
whose  price  had  been  forcibly  deducted  from 
his  salary. 

The  sale  was  to  begin  upon  a  Monday 
morning.  The  day  came;  the  populace  did 
not.  The  Italian  Puller-in  worked  vigorously 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

but  to  little  purpose,  and  Mr.  Goldstone 
fumed  and  wondered.  At  ten  o'clock  a  large 
wagon  was  backed  almost  across  the  side 
walk  and  two  Board  of  Health  officials  dis 
embarked.  At  sight  of  the  blue  cloth  and 
brass  buttons  the  strong  Italian  reversed  his 
function  and  became  a  shover-out;  but  the 
men  overawed  that  stalwart  son  of  Tuscany 
and  entered  the  emporium.  Mr.  Goldstone, 
with  visions  of  vests  and  neckties  sold  at 
prices  as  fancy  as  themselves,  bustled  for 
ward,  and  a  look  of  horrified  enlightenment 
dawned  upon  the  face  of  Mr.  Blumberg. 

"  Are  you  the  proprietor  ?  "  asked  one  of  the 
visitors.  Mr.  Goldstone  beamed  and  bowed. 

"Then  we've  come  for  the  goods  men 
tioned  in  the  advertisement,"  announced 
the  other,  drawing  out  Mr.  Blumberg's 
latest  effusion. 

[230] 


THE     WILES      OF      THE      WOOER 

"All  of  them?"  cried  Mr.  Goldstone, 
and  he  thought  that  his  prayers  had  been 
answered  and  the  yearnings  of  a  lifetime 
fulfilled.  "All  of  them?" 

"Every  last  one  of  them.  Get  them  out 
quick.  You've  got  to  come  to  headquarters 
to  explain.  You  must  have  been  crazy  when 
you  put  that  advertisement  in  the  papers." 

"Crazy!"  echoed  the  amazed  proprietor. 
"Crazy  ?  Sure  not.  I  got  the  goods  here  all 
right.  It's  for  sure  great  man's  week.  Who's 
crazy  ?" 

"You  are,  I  guess.  Hurry  up,  now;  no 
nonsense.  We  are  going  to  quarantine  the 
place  and  take  away  all  the  infected  stuff. 
Where  is  it?" 

"What  stuff?"  shrieked  the  frightened 
and  desperate  Mr.  Goldstone. 

"This,  of  course,"  answered  the  officer, 
[231] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

and  read  the  finale  of  Isaac's  swan-song, 
printed  in  small  and  unobtrusive  type,— 
16  We  are  offering  these  goods  at  epoch  mark 
ing  rates  because  they  are  from  the  stock  of 
the  late  Mr.  Jacob  Abrahams.  He  died  of 
smallpox  on  North  Brother  Island,  and  his 
family  needs  the  money." 

For  a  moment  blank  bewilderment  ban 
ished  all  expression  from  the  face  of  the 
betrayed  Samuel  Goldstone.  His  eyes  roved 
wildly  over  his  domain  until  they  fell  upon 
the  foresworn  Mr.  Blumberg,  who,  frantic 
of  face  and  gesture,  was  trying  to  explain  the 
situation  to  Esther. 

"It  was  the  men,"  he  was  reiterating.  "I 
could  not  bear  that  they  should  come,  Miss 
Mogilewsky.  I  could  not  bear  to  see  the  men 
about  you.  But  I  never  thought  of  this  - 
I  swear  I  didn't  —  I  swear  it." 


THE     WILES     OF     THE     WOOER 

It  was  sheer  waste  of  energy  on  Mr.  Blum- 
berg's  part  to  swear  in  the  sputtering  pres 
ence  of  his  boss.  Nothing  was  left  to  be  said 
by  any  rival  blasphemer.  Even  the  strong 
Italian,  who  had  deserted  his  post  in  the 
hope  of  a  "mill,"  was  impressed,  and  Esther 
covered  her  ears  in  terror. 

"But  didn't  you  write  the  thing  ?"  queried 
the  Inspector,  "and  didn't  you  know  that 
something  would  happen  ?" 

Murder  and  comprehension  flamed  into 
Mr.  Goldstone's  face.  With  an  inarticulate 
snarl  he  rushed  upon  the  bard  of  his  bar 
gains,  and  in  an  instant  the  shop  was  full  of 
scurrying  and  pursuing  forms.  The  boss 
chased  Isaac;  the  Inspector,  fearing  blood 
shed,  chased  the  boss;  the Puller-in, scenting 
battle,  chased  the  other  three.  The  Assistant 
Inspector,  a  knight  at  heart,  caught  Esther 
[233] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

as  she  reeled  before  the  onrush  of  the  chase 
and  threw  her  on  the  high-heaped  "  Egyptian 
Balbriggan  Underwear,"  of  the  center  table; 
climbed  after  her;  drew  her  to  her  feet,  and 
from  that  commanding  but  insecure  position 
they  watched  the  progress  of  the  battle  be 
neath. 

Around  and  around  the  shop  flew  Mr. 
Blumberg,  his  breath  coming  heavily,  his 
heart  laboring  under  the  mockery  of  his 
fancy  vest.  After  him  —  under  counters, 
over  tables  —  followed  the  boss,  the  In 
spector  and  the  Puller-in.  Spaces  were  narrow 
and  the  bargain  display  was  insecure.  Heap 
after  heap  tottered  and  fell  until  the  path  of 
flight  was  strewn.  The  crash  of  tinware 
heralded  the  fall  of  the  boss  as  he  plunged 
into  a  maze  of  coffee-pots  and  dish-pans, 
and  came  ponderously  to  earth.  The  In- 
[234] 


THE     WILES      OF     THE      WOOER 

spector  joined  him.  The  Puller- in  forcibly 
extricated  the  combatants,  and  Esther  clung 
tremblingly  to  the  assistant.  And  then,  as 
Isaac,  once  more  on  his  feet,  sped  toward 
freedom  and  the  door,  and  wondered  if  he 
might  outstrip  vengeance,  the  handle  turned, 
the  door  opened,  and  Morris  Mogilewsky, 
with  a  message  to  his  aunt,  stood  upon  the 
threshold.  But  brief  was  his  stand.  Mr. 
Blumberg  escaped  over  the  prostrate  form 
of  his  angel  of  deliverance  and  vanished, 
hatless  and  panting,  into  the  moving  Grand 
Street  crowd. 

The  specific  charge  against  Samuel  Gold- 
stone  was  not  proved,  but  weeks  of  official 
dom  and  of  inquiry  followed.  Torrents  of 
disinfectants  ruined  the  character  of  the 
store,  the  confidence  of  the  public,  the  tem 
per  of  the  boss,  much  of  the  stock,  the 
[235] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

assurance  of  the  hot-headed  Puller-in,  and 
the  peace  of  Esther's  days. 

For  Isaac  was  gone,  and  she  was  very  lone 
ly  in  the  transformed  store,  which  smelled 
so  acidly  of  chemicals;  nor  was  its  gloom 
relieved  by  the  constant  companionship  of 
the  soured  and  abusive  Mr.  Goldstone.  He 
had  long  suspected  that  he  had  a  rival  in  his 
clerk  and  was  handicapped  by  no  chivalric 
scruples  against  speaking  ill  of  the  absent. 
He  spent  hours  at  it;  he  railed  at  and  abused 
the  vanished  Isaac  bitterly  and  unceasingly. 

"  Und  for  why  did  he  write  that  fool  words  ? 
For  why  ?  For  why  ?  It  ain'd  business  und 
it  ain'd  sense.  I  buy  them  gloves  from  off 
my  friend  Goldmark.  Is  Goldmark  dead  ? 
Sure  not.  You  seen  him  in  de  store  yesterday. 
He  ain'd  died  nowheres,  und  he  says  he  died 
by  Islands.  Ain'd  he  crazy  ?  Gott !  I  ain'd 
[236] 


THE     WILES      OF     THE      WOOER 

never  seen  such  a  foolishness !  It's  goot  he 
goes." 

But  to  Esther  it  was  very  bad.  For  the 
first  few  days  she  suffered  agonies  of  un 
certainty  as  to  his  fate;  and  the  sight  of  his 
deserted  derby  under  the  hosiery  counter 
was  almost  more  than  she  could  bear.  Then 
her  doubts  were  resolved  into  an  even  more 
cruel  certainty.  Morris,  her  small  nephew, 
appeared  one  afternoon  with  a  tiny  note, 
which  he  delivered  to  her  when  the  eyes  of 
the  boss  were  not  upon  him.  "The  sales 
man  gives  it  to  me/'  he  whispered.  "I  seen 
him  by  the  corner." 

The  note  was  short.  "Meet  me  at  Grand, 
corner  Essex,  to-night.  Give  the  boy  a  penny 
if  you  have  it.  Isaac." 

'You  seen  him.  What  kind  from  looks 
did  he  have?"  asked  Esther  wistfully. 
[237] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

"Well,"  Morris  admitted,  "he  ain't  got 
no  more  stylish  looks.  He  has  looks  off  of 
poor  mans.  Say,  he  puts  him  on  mit  a  little 
bit  of  hat.  It  ain't  no  fer  man's  hat,  und  it 
makes  him  awful  funny  looks.  Hangs  a 
ribbon  on  it." 

"So,"  was  Esther's  only  comment.  Then 
she  added,  "You  shall  tell  him  I'll  be  there 
at  seven.  Und  Morris,  here's  a  penny  for 
you.  You  don't  needs  you  shall  tell  your 
mama  how  you  makes  mit  me  and --Mr. 
Blumberg." 

The  eyes  of  love  are  never  keen,  else  would 
Esther  have  discovered  the  large  part  that 
clothes  had  played  in  the  making  of  her  man, 
for  the  figure  which  awaited  her  coming  at 
the  corner  of  Grand  and  Essex  Streets  that 
evening  bore  little  resemblance  to  the  dapper 
Mr.  Blumberg  of  the  emporium.  Gone  was 
[238] 


THE     WILES      OF      THE     WOOER 

his  assurance  and  his  color,  gone  his  ingra 
tiating  manner  and  his  fancy  vest.  He  was 
shrunk  to  half  his  former  size,  and  the  little 
Scotch  cap  perched  rakishly  over  one  of  his 
hollow  eyes  added  largely  to  the  change  in 
his  appearance.  But  Esther  saw  none  of  these 
things.  She  saw  only  that  he  was  thin,  and 
ill,  and  miserable.  She  had  thoughtfully 
brought  his  derby  in  a  paper  bag  and  when 
it  was  once  more  upon  his  head  he  seemed 
to  recover  some  of  his  spirits.  Nevertheless 
his  report  was  gloomy  and  his  hope  at  lowest 
ebb.  He  was  out  of  work,  could  find  no  open 
ing,  had  eaten  nothing  all  day,  wished  that  he 
was  dead,  and  had  asked  Esther  to  meet  him 
that  he  might  bid  her  an  eternal  farewell, 
since  his  chances  in  Jew  York  were  gone, 
and  he  must  emigrate. 

"But  where  will  you  go  ?"  asked  his  lady 
[239] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

through  her  tears.  "Are  you  going  far 
away  ?" 

''Very  far,"  replied  Isaac.  "I  may  never 
see  you  again.  I  am  going  to  Harlem." 

"Mein  Gott!  So  far!"  wailed  Esther.  "So 
awful,  awful  far.  Und  the  store  mit  our 
names  on  it  —  where  is  that  little  store  ?" 

"It  ain't  nowhere."  Isaac  groaned  from 
the  depths  of  a  depression  to  which  only  one 
of  his  race  could  reach.  "It  ain't  nowhere, 
at  all.  It  was  a  lie,  that  little  store;  only  a 
lie." 

"A  lie  —  und  I  think  so  much  of  it.  Ah, 
Isaac,  that  makes  me  cold  in  mine  heart  und 
tears  in  mine  eyes." 

"What  else  can  I  say?"  asked  her  lover. 
"I  have  no  money  and  no  job.  What  can  I 
say,  but  farewell  ?" 

When  Esther  reached  home,  heavy  of  eye 
[240] 


THE     WILES      OF     THE      WOOER 

and  sick  at  heart,  Morris  was  watching  for 
her.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mogilewsky  had  gone  to 
a  ball,  to  which  Esther  had  been  invited, 
but  from  the  very  thought  of  which  she 
shrank. 

"Did  you  see  him?"  Morris  eagerly  in 
quired.  "Didn't  he  have  funny  looks  ?  What 
kind  from  hats  was  it  ? ' 

His  adored  auntie,  instead  of  answering, 
threw  herself  face  downward  upon  the  bed 
behind  the  door  in  a  wild  paroxysm  of  weep 
ing.  The  boy  was  beside  her  in  a  moment, 
apologizing,  explaining,  comforting.  Deftly 
and  tenderly  he  removed  her  hat  and  jacket, 
murmuring  the  while  — 

"Don't    you    have    sad    feelings,    auntie. 

Don't  you  cry.  I  guess  maybe  I  don't  know 

what  is  stylish  hats  for  mans.  I  guess  it  was 

a  awful  tony  hat,  only  I  ain't  never  seen  none 

[241] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

like  it.  Don't  you  have  sad  feelings  over 
your  fellow.  He's  a  awful  nice  fellow." 

Gradually  Esther's  sobs  ceased  and  she 
allowed  herself  to  be  soothed  and  quieted  by 
Morris's  endearments  and  caresses,  so  that 
when  the  elder  Mogilewskys  returned  from 
scenes  of  revelry,  they  found  aunt  and  nephew 
asleep  and  peaceful. 

Weeks  went  by;  they  grew  to  months;  and 
no  word  came  from  Isaac.  He  had  evidently 
deserted  Esther,  whose  sorrow  gradually 
changed  to  resentment.  Why,  she  asked  her 
self,  did  he  not  write  to  her  ?  Why  make  no 
sign  of  love  or  remembrance  ?  Slowly  she 
came  to  believe  that  his  farewell  had  been 
final,  and  slowly  the  vision  of  him,  which 
in  the  first  weeks  of  her  bereavement  had 
haunted  the  whole  store,  faded  and  died. 

Mr.    Goldstone    was    not    an    impetuous 


THE     WILES      OF      THE      WOOER 

wooer.  He  had  waited  for  his  store  and  was 
content  to  wait  for  Esther.  He  was  patient, 
but  assured.  For  what  girl,  he  asked  himself 

-  and   Esther  —  could   refuse   the   induce 
ments  he  had  to  offer.  "  Some  day,"  he  would 
remark,  "you  can  come  in  the  store  und  buy 
all  you  want  at  half  price  —  that  is  when  you 
promise  to  marry  mit  me.   Some  day  you 
come  in  the  store  and  take  all  you  want  free 

-  that  is  when  you  marry  mit  me." 
After   a   time,    too,   home   influence   was 

brought  to  bear,  for  Morris,  whose  eye  for 
romance  was  always  keen,  had  informed  his 
mother  that  Mr.  Goldstone  held  his  assistant 
in  admiring  and  sentimental  regard. 

"Sooner  he  looks  on  her,  sooner  he  has 

glad  looks,"  Morris  reported,  "und  sooner 

she  looks  on  him,  sooner  he  has  proud  looks. 

I  guess,  maybe,  he  could  to  have  kind  feelings 

[243] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

over  her.  Say,  what  you  think,  he  gives  me 
a  necktie  mit  funny  smells  und  a  spot  on  it 
the  whiles  she's  aunties  mit  me." 

"Und  how  does  your  auntie  make?  Has 
she  feelings  ?"  asked  the  match-making  Mrs. 
Mogilewsky. 

"I  couldn't  to  tell,"  answered  Morris.  "I 
don't  know,  even." 

Neither  did  Mr.  Goldstone.  Neither, 
sometimes,  did  Esther.  She  did  not  intend 
to  spend  her  life  in  mourning  for  a  faithless 
lover,  and  yet  —  and  yet  -  -  But  Mrs.  Mo 
gilewsky  did  not  approve  of  procrastination 
in  an  affair  so  important  and  so  advanta 
geous.  She  visited  the  Grand  Street  store; 
she  invited  the  proprietor  to  spend  an  eve 
ning  at  her  apartment.  And  Mr.  Goldstone, 
divested  of  his  derby  and  overcoat  —  a  guise 
in  which  Esther  had  never  seen  him  —  proved 
[244] 


THE     WILES     OF     THE      WOOER 

so  affable  and  was  so  devoted  that  Esther 
felt  that  it  might  be  pleasant  to  put  away 
all  thoughts  save  those  of  duty,  and  to  be 
stow  this  very  powerful  and  desirable  brother- 
in-law  upon  her  house.  Her  dreams  that 
night  were  all  of  pomp  and  pride.  She  saw 
herself  released  from  daily  toil  and  living  in 
the  four-roomed  flat  over  the  Grand  Street 
store.  Mr.  Goldstone  had  promised  to  en 
gage  it  for  her  so  soon  as  another  engage 
ment  should  be  agreed  upon.  And  there, 
with  all  her  wants  supplied  and  all  her  wishes 
granted,  she  should  live  in  peace  and  plenty. 
Should  she  do  it,  she  wondered,  should  she 
do  it  ? 

On  the  next  morning  Morris,  on  an  early 

visit  to  the  bakery,  met  the  long  lost  Isaac, 

and  came  tearing  back  to  his  auntie  with  a 

letter.  "  He  sees  me  on  the  block,"  he  panted. 

[245] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

"He's  awful  stylish  now,  und  he  says  like 
this:  'Ain't  your  auntie  got  no  letters  off 
of  me?'  Und  I  says,  'No,'  und  he  says 
-'cuse  me — 'Damn  Goldstone.  I  writes 
your  auntie  whole  bunches  of  lovin'  letters. 
I  guess  Goldstone  don't  gives  them  to  her 
when  she  comes  by  the  store.'  Sooner  he 
gives  me  a  quarter  und  this  letter  fer  you." 
The  letter  was  a  masterpiece.  The  elo 
quence  which  had  once  swayed  thousands, 
was  centered  now  upon  one.  In  flights  of 
adjectives  and  flocks  of  capital  letters,  Isaac 
poured  out  his  heart.  He  upbraided  Esther 
for  her  disregard  of  his  devotion,  her  un- 
responsiveness  to  his  former  appeals.  He 
told  her  of  his  altered  fortunes  and  of  his 
unchanged  heart.  He  announced  his  attain 
ment  to  the  post  of  floor-walker  in  a  Sixth 
Avenue  establishment,  and  laid  at  her  feet 
[246] 


THE     WILES      OF      THE      WOOER 

his  love,  his  hand,  his  two-roomed  home  and 
a  position  in  the  millinery  department  of  his 
new  field. 

Esther  reached  Mr.  Goldstone's  emporium 
in  a  flutter  of  happiness,  and  under  the  ro 
mantic  influence  of  her  "loving  letter,"  she 
once  more  dressed  the  brown-browed  lady 
in  full  bridal  array. 

Mr.  Goldstone,  arriving  somewhat  later, 
and  still  under  the  spell  of  the  evening's  joy, 
added  the  finishing  touch.  Sending  Esther 
to  the  cellar  upon  some  improvised  errand, 
he  plucked  off  the  bridal  veil  and  wreath, 
twisted  the  black  locks  into  a  hard  knot, 
substituted  an  auburn  wig  from  his  stock  of 
"human  hair  goods,  all  naturally  curled," 
readjusted  the  veil  and  wreath,  and  awaited 
Esther's  return.  That  she  was  moved  he  could 
not  doubt.  That  she  would  not  accept  his 
[247] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

attentions  was  also  made  clear  to  him,  and 
from  this  disinclination  he  could  not  move 
her,  even  by  his  gracious  assurance  that  she 
might  wear  that  identical  costume,  "as  is" 
upon  their  nuptial  day.  He  was  puzzled  and 
disappointed,  but  quite  determined  that  she 
should  either  change  her  mind  that  very  day 
or  feel  the  weight  of  his  displeasure. 

Meanwhile  Isaac,  that  impetuous  lover, 
had  decided  not  to  wait  for  a  written  reply, 
but  to  venture  bravely  into  the  enemy's  coun 
try  and  to  watch  for  his  divinity  outside  the 
Grand  Street  store.  To  that  end  he  secured 
a  half-hour's  grace  from  his  new  employ 
ment  and  cautiously  approached  the  scene 
of  his  joys  and  sorrows.  From  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street  he  reconnoitered.  There 
was  the  gold  and  black  sign,  there  the  smil 
ing  lady  and  there  the  strong  Italion.  He 
[248] 


THE     WILES      OF     THE      WOOER 

could  see  clearly  into  the  shop,  for  the  door 
was  unobscured,  but  it  seemed  unaccount 
ably  empty.  There  were  the  high  piled  bar 
gain  tables,  there  the  hanging  samples  of 
ladies'  and  gents'  attire,  the  glittering  heaps 
of  tinware,  the  dangling  rainbows  of  ribbon, 
but  not  a  sign  of  life. 

And  yet  one  corner  of  the  shop  was  full  of 
action.  Between  the  wood  backing  of  the 
window  space  and  the  jewelry  counter  Esther 
Mogilewsky  cowered  before  the  vituperation 
of  Mr.  Goldstone  who,  having  found  his 
blandishments  of  no  avail,  had  changed  his 
tactics  and  was  now  screaming  at  his  terrified 
assistant  — 

"Ten  cents  is  gone,  don't  I  tells  you !  Ten 

cents  what  I  took  from  off  a  lady  und  lays  by 

the  towels  counter.  Who  takes  it  ?  You.  I'll 

get  you  arrested  und  sent  by  the  Island.  You 

[249] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

is  thief s.  You  is  robbers.  Where  is  that  police 
man?" 

Her  pitiful  attempts  at  propitiation  and 
explanation  drove  him  further  into  fury,  for 
he  knew  much  more  clearly  than  she  could 
that  the  money  was  in  his  own  pocket  and 
that  he  had  invented  the  charge  to  punish 
her  coldness  and  exhibit  his  power.  His  face 
was  distorted  with  rage  and  his  gesticulations 
verged  so  closely  upon  blows  that  Esther 
cringed  before  them. 

But  Isaac  saw  none  of  this  and  his  courage 
grew.  Carefully  he  crossed  the  street,  gin 
gerly  he  approached,  promptly  he  was  seized 
by  the  strong  Italion  Puller-in,  and  vigorously 
he  was  dragged  into  the  shop  by  the  official 
he  had  added  to  the  establishment,  but  who 
failed  to  recognize  him  in  his  official  Prince 
Albert.  And  then  Esther  was  yielding  to 
[250] 


THE     WILES      OF     THE      WOOER 

wild  hysterics,  while  the  Italion,  with  Celtic 
curses,  was  shaking  Mr.  Goldstone  like  a  rat, 
and  "landing"  wherever  land  might  be. 

'Ye  ould  devil,"  he  cried,  with  charac 
teristic  Latin  warmth,  "I'd  like  to  shake  the 
black  heart  out  of  yer  black  carcass.  Find 
her  hat,  my  boy  --  find  the  poor  child's  hat 
-  and  put  some  of  those  fancy  fixin's  upon 
her.  We'll  have  the  weddin'  this  minute  of 
time  and  I'll  lock  this  swine  in  here  till  it's 


over." 


And  by  an  alien  power,  without  pomp  or 
ceremony,  Isaac  and  Esther  were  married. 
They  were  attended  by  that  most  sustaining 
of  bridesmaids,  most  encouraging  of  grooms 
men  and  proudest  of  witnesses  -  -  Terence 
O'Toole,  the  Italion  Puller-in. 

Mr.  Goldstone's  emporium  is  now  for 
Gents'  Furnishing  Exclusively,  but  his  life  is 
[251] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

not  quite  without  female  influence.  In  his 
garret  he  enjoys  the  companionship  of  a 
smiling,  placid,  silent  lady,  black  of  eye  and 
black  of  hair,  in  full  bridal  regalia. 


THE  GIFTS  OF  THE 
PHILOSOPHERS 


THE      GIFTS     OF      TH  E 
PHILOSOPHERS 

The  morning  prayer  was  over  and  a  hymn 
in  progress  when  the  door  of  the  Katharine 
Wellwood  Mission  Kindergarten  opened 
cautiously,  and  a  small,  dark  head  with 
bright  eyes  and  yellow  cigar-ribboned  braids 
presented  itself.  Concetta  Maddalena  Sal- 
vatori  looked  her  first  upon  the  scene  of 
many  future  joys  and  sorrows.  For  a  space 
she  watched  the  circle  of  singing  children, 
the  goldenrod  in  its  center,  the  birds  in  their 
cages,  the  plants  in  the  windows,  the  sun 
shine  pouring  in.  She  turned  her  attention 
next  to  the  teachers :  to  Miss  Knowles,  fresh 
and  cheery  in  her  white  linen  dress ;  to  Miss 
[255] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

Parker,  hard-featured  and  stern  of  expres 
sion;  lastly,  to  Miss  Martin.  And  slowly 
Concetta  raised  a  short  arm  in  a  yellow  satin 
sleeve,  waved  it  encouragingly  into  the  dark 
ness  of  the  hall,  and  ushered  in  Maria 
Annunciata  Salvatori,  her  mother.  Again 
Concetta  encouraged  seemingly  empty  space 
until  Pietro  Giuseppe  Salvatori,  husband 
and  father,  joined  and  completed  the  smiling 
family  group. 

Miss  Martin  disengaged  herself  from  the 
embraces  of  her  two  neighbors  in  the  circle 
and  approached  to  interview  the  visitors. 
The  manner  of  Pietro  Giuseppe  was  wonder 
ful  and  perfect  —  in  which  it  bore  little  re 
semblance  to  the  staring  curiosity  with  which 
the  Katharine  Wellwood  Mission  Kinder 
garten  was  regarding  him  and  his  in  defiance 
of  the  whispered  remonstrances  of  Miss 
[256] 


GIFTS     OF     THE     PHILOSOPHERS 

Knowles  and  the  Medusa  glare  of  Miss 
Parker. 

"  Get  on  to  the  Dagos,"  began  John  Healy, 
while  Pietro  explained  in  florid  English  that 
the  lady  was  his  wife,  newly  arrived  from 
Italy,  and  the  bambina  his  daughter,  sim 
ultaneously  imported.  Here  the  clan  of 
Salvatori  bobbed  in  unison  and  beamed  in 
concert.  And  now,  Pietro  further  set  forth, 
their  prayer  was  this:  Might  the  blessing  of 
a  free  education,  beginning  with  the  ladies 
and  bird-cages  before  him,  and  culminat 
ing  in  college  hall  or  convent  cloister,  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  diminutive  but 
"ver  smarta"  head  of  Concetta  Maddalena 
Salvatori  ? 

Again  they  beamed.  Again  they  bobbed, 
arid  Miss  Martin  yielded.  Pietro  Giuseppe 
kissed  her  hand,  gathered  his  wife  to  his 
[257] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 


side,  and  withdrew,  leaving  Miss  Martin 
face  to  face  with  a  bambina  of  four  summers, 
a  bewitching  smile,  and  not  one  word  of 
English. 

But  if  she  was  backward  in  the  language 
of  the  land,  she  was  well  versed  in  the  lan 
guage  of  love.  Miss  Martin  stretched  forth 
an  encouraging  hand;  the  bambina  kissed  it 
rapturously,  pressed  it  to  the  square  bosom 
of  her  red  and  black  apron,  and  laid  a  velvet 
cheek  upon  it.  All  blithely  she  allowed  herself 
to  be  led  to  the  circle,  all  blissfully  she  dis 
posed  a  "ver  shorta"  yellow  satin  skirt  upon 
her  little  chair,  all  happily  she  crossed  her 
[258] 


GIFTS     OF     THE     PHILOSOPHERS 


small  hands  in  the  lap  of  the  red  and  black 
apron  and  set  about  enjoying  herself.  She 
was  quite  in  the  dark  as  to  the  words  she 
heard,  but  she  caught  the  spirit  quickly  and 
listened  with  sudden  gurglings  of  delight  to 
the  story  told  by  the  teacher,  to  the  shy  con 
tributions  of  Becky  Kastrinsky,  to  the  sledge 
hammer  witticism  of  Isidore  Lavinsky.  Words 
were  nothing  to  her,  but  here  were  flowers 
and  playfellows,  and  Love. 

When  the  children's  vocabulary  had  been 
sufficiently  paraded  and  enriched,  Miss  Mar 
tin  swung  the  bambina  to  a  point  of  observa 
tion  on  the  piano's  flat  top  and  struck  a 
[259] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

resounding  chord  of  command.  The  children 
sprang  to  their  feet  and  Concetta's  heart 
leaped  within  her  breast.  Another  chord 
reverberated  through  the  room  —  and 
through  the  small  candidate  for  college 
honors  —  and  the  bambina's  eyes  rolled 
widely  until  Becky  Jacower  laid  a  soothing 
hand  upon  one  of  the  purple  stockings  and 
whispered  the  comforting  but  uncompre- 
hended  words: 

"Don't  you  have  no  'fraid,  little  Dago 
girl"  -Becky  was  three  years  and  a  half 
old  and  small  beyond  belief-  "it's  on'y 
music.  It  ain't  a-goin'  to  hurt  you." 

"  Ah-ah-ah !"  gurgled  Concetta,  and,  being 
thus  reassured,  began  to  suck  her  thumb. 

She  was  later  lifted  down  into  a  country 
of  beauty  and  delight,  a  country  where 
gracious  ladies  played  upon  pianos  or  sang 
[260] 


GIFTS     OF     THE      PHILOSOPHERS 

songs  --with  gentle  swayings  of  arms  and 
bodies  —  or  danced  and  ran  about  with  a 
grace  and  an  abandon  wonderful  to  see. 
And  in  this  country  there  were  children  of 
lesser  but  still  surprising  charm  and  courtesy, 
who,  following  the  example  of  the  ladies, 
sang  and  marched  and  played  enchanting 
games. 

Before  twelve  o'clock  the  bambina  was  on 
terms  of  caressment  with  the  youngest  assist 
ant,  and  of  friendliness  with  all  the  world, 
with  the  possible  exception  of  Miriam  Sos- 
nowsky,  who  had  torn  off  and  forcibly  re 
tained  one  of  the  yellow  cigar  ribbons.  But 
that  had  occurred  early  in  the  morning,  and 
Concetta  forgot  it  as  she  worked  her  way, 
densely  puzzled  but  supremely  happy, 
through  scenes  of  wonder  and  enchantment. 
Miss  Martin  was  delighted.  Here  was  proof 
[261] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

positive  of  the  atmospheric  influence  disasso 
ciated  from  and  independent  of  the  speech 
medium.  Here  was  a  child  who  had  heard 
no  understandable  word  for  three  long  hours, 
and  who  was  nevertheless  happy  as  a  lark  and 
alert  as  a  fox-terrier.  Concetta  was,  as  the 
sociological  assistant  learnedly  remarked: 
"A  thorough  Latin.  So  quick  in  yielding 
to  a  thought  current,  so  ready  to  grasp  an 
idea." 

When  the  good-by  song  had  been  sung, 
and  the  babies  were  filing  past  their  teachers 
with  unsteady  bows  and  awkward  hand 
shakes,  Jacob  Abrahamowsky  whispered  to 
Miss  Martin:  "Say,  I  guess  the  Ginny  don't 
know  what's  polite.  She's  hookin'  all  things. 
I  says  I  should  tell  you,  und  she  makes  a 
snoot  on  me  und  hooks  some  more." 

And  he  was  right.  Concetta  Maddalena 
[262] 


GIFTS     OF     THE     PHILOSOPHERS 

had  not  confined  herself  to  ideas.  Sadly  Miss 
Martin  detained  the  "thorough  Latin"  and 
reclaimed  the  kindergarten  property  by  her 
secreted,  while  the  flippant  assistant  knelt 
by  the  small  culprit's  side  and  essayed  con 
solation,  and  the  sociological  assistant  made 
an  entry  in  her  note-book :  "  Mem. —  To  look 
up  racial  morality  in  Italy.  Honesty  ?"  But 
Miss  Martin  knew  that  she  was  face  to  face 
with  an  honest  misunderstanding  sufficiently 
difficult  to  explain  to  English-speaking  chil 
dren,  but  which  she  despaired  of  ever  making 
clear  to  the  "ver  smarta"  head  resting 
against  her  shoulder. 

For  how  could  she  make  clear  to  this  baby 
Herr  FroebePs  definition  of  the  word  gift  ? 
How  persuade  her  to  go  gratefully  home  with 
her  thought  content  enriched  by  the  idea  of 
cube  and  sphere  while  the  real  box  and  ball 
[263] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

were  put  back  into  the  closet  ?  How  convince 
her  that  there  had  been  sincerity  and  not 
guile  in  the  smile  of  the  lady  who  was  now 
trying  to  reclaim  the  presents  she  had  so 
graciously  bestowed  a  few  hours  before  ? 

And  the  bambina  wept  —  not  with  the 
noisy  vehemence  of  the  Jewish  babyhood  to 
which  the  Mission  was  accustomed,  but  with 
large,  slow  tears  and  heavy  sobs  most  dis 
quieting  to  the  hearers'  nerves.  Miss  Martin 
rocked  the  sufferer  in  her  kind  arms  and 
murmured  endearments  the  while.  The 
scientific  assistant  took  copious  notes.  The 
flippant  assistant  brought  a  large  spray  from 
the  bowl  of  goldenrod  and  pinned  it  to  the 
front  of  the  red  and  black  apron.  Gradu 
ally  Concetta  was  soothed;  her  sobs  died 
away;  her  smiles  were  restored;  but  she  was 
a  sadder  and  a  wiser  child  when  she  rushed 
[264] 


GIFTS     OF     THE     PHILOSOPHERS 

upon  her  mother  who  had  come  to  fetch  her 
and  broke  into  liquid  Italian  baby-talk. 

Miss  Martin  did  not  know  the  Italian  of 
"Indian  giver,"  but  she  read  the  idea  very 
plainly  in  Concetta's  glance  of  disillusioned 
farewell.  Under  its  blighting  power  she 
relinquished  her  claim  upon  the  rainbow 
paper  which  Concetta  had  taken  unto  herself 
-  she  even  added  a  few  strands  of  dyed 
raffia  and  a  little  red  ball.  There  were  more 
bobbing  courtesies,  much  pantomimic  grati 
tude  and  more  kissing  of  hands  before  Mrs. 
Salvatori  wrapped  the  bambina  in  a  circular 
knitted  cape  of  pink  and  purple,  and  the 
kindergarten  room  was  left  to  its  rulers. 

"A  charming  baby!"  cried  Miss  Martin 
warmly. 

"And  with  such  taking  ways!"  added  the 
flippant  assistant. 

F265] 


WARDS      OF     LIBERTY 

But  the  sociological  assistant  wrote  in  her 
note-book:  "Mem. --Are  we  ever  really 
justified  in  compromising  upon  a  moral 
point?" 

Weeks  passed,  and  Concetta  learned  all 
the  customs  and  laws  of  the  kindergarten 
except  that  of  coming  at  a  seasonable  hour. 
Miss  Martin's  remonstrances  were  careful, 
copious  and  vain.  This  one  of  her  charges 
who  stood  most  in  need  of  the  language 
training  of  the  morning  circle  was  always 
late  for  it.  Other  children  were  sometimes 
absent,  sometimes  delayed,  as  when  Simon 
Siskousky's  father's  sister  was  married,  and 
Simon  went  on  a  family  spree  which  marked 
the  ceremony;  or  when  small  brothers  and 
sisters  of  other  students  fell  ill  —  or  down 
stairs  —  and  required  tendance.  These  things 
Miss  Martin  could  understand,  deplore, 
[266] 


GIFTS      OF     THE      PHILOSOPHERS 

forgive,  but  the  unfailing  irregularity  of 
Concetta  was  more  difficult  to  cope  with. 
At  some  varying  hour  between  nine-thirty 
and  eleven  she  would  come  trippingly  in  - 
all  beaming  smiles  and  gleaming  safety-pins. 
Always  Miss  Martin's  glance  of  pained 
remonstrance  changed  the  smiles  to  puckers 
of  contrition;  always  the  flippant  assistant 
comforted  her  favorite;  always  Miss  Martin 
relented;  always  the  learned  assistant  added 
to  the  data  she  was  collecting  for  a  paper  to 
be  used  before  the  Federation  of  Mothers' 
Clubs  on  "The  Futility  of  Sporadic  Disci 
pline  in  Primary  Education." 

Concetta  unconsciously  contributed  to  the 
psychologic  literature  of  the  day.  The  other 
children  were  typical,  but  she  was  a  variation, 
and  the  workings  of  the  "ver  smarta"  head 
were  observed  and  analysed  with  an  eager 
[267] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

hunger.  C.  M.  S. —  in  psychologic  as  in 
medical  literature  the  patient  is  initially 
ident  fied -- belonged  to  the  visual  sensory 
class  of  psycho-organisms.  Under  her  tightly- 
twisted  and  firmly- tied  braids  the  genetic 
unfolding  of  the  emotional  soul  -  "  Gemuth" 
-  went  bravely  on  through  the  second  or 
separat  ve  stage  of  the  Ego.  When  Miss 
Knowles  heard  these  tidings  her  concern 
was  very  great. 

;<  You're  quite  sure  it  won't  hurt  her?" 
she  asked.  "And  where  is  she  going  next  ?" 

"Back  to  the  Gifts.  Out  of  the  Derivative 
we  pass  back  to  the  Originative  through  the 
Point." 

The  "Gemuth"  was  just  then  unfolding 
on  the  floor,  and  the  flippant  assistant  picked 
it  up  and  cuddled  it. 

"Ego,  dear,"  she  began. 
[268] 


GIFTS     OF     THE      PHILOSOPHERS 

"Dago,"  Nathan  Balcowitsky  politely 
corrected. 

"What?"  asked  the  flippant  assistant. 
"What  did  you  say,  Nathan?" 

"Well,  Missis  Parker  she  says  we  dassent 
to  call  her  that,  und  we  dassent  to  call  her 
Ginny,  neither.  But  anyway,  it  ain't  Ago. 
It's  Dago.  She  don't  likes  you  should  call  her 
that.  She  could  to  cry." 

:<  Then  I  won't,"  Miss  Knowles  promised 
demurely.  "And  thank  you  for  reminding 


me." 


*  You're  welcome,  all  right,"  responded 
the  boy;  and  Miss  Knowles  turned  to  the 
placid  bambina. 

"Do   you    know   where   you're   going?" 

she   demanded.    "Aren't  you   lucky   to    be 

neither    a    rich    man    nor    a    camel  ?    For 

you --my    child,    I    hope    you    appreciate 

[269] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

your  privileges  —  are  going  through  the 
Point." 

"  Si,  signorina  mia,"  lisped  the  "  Gemiith," 
and  gurgled  entrancingly. 

But  there  was  one  stage  of  unfolding  to 
which  the  bambina  persistently  objected.  She 
could  not  be  reconciled  to  parting  with  the 
Froebelian  gifts  at  twelve  o'clock  each  day. 
Daily  the  tendrils  of  her  being  clambered 
and  clung  to  the  "type  solids/'  and  daily 
the  "gift  thought"  had  to  be  repeated  for 
her  rebellious  ear.  What  did  it  profit  to  her 
that  cubes  and  spheres  had  done  their  subtle 
service  and  were  "bending  back  towards  the 
Point?"  She  wanted  to  take  them  home, 
wanted  to  show  the  smooth  wooden  treasures 
to  her  mother,  wanted,  more  than  all  else, 
to  take  them  to  bed  with  her.  Her  master 
pieces  of  sewing,  folding  and  painting  were 
[270] 


GIFTS     OF     THE     PHILOSOPHERS 

pasted  in  a  book,  but  she  did  not  understand 
that,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  she  would  be 
come  sole  proprietor  of  her  collected  works. 
Even  had  she  known  she  would  still  have 
been  far  from  contented.  She  wanted  things 
now. 

When  she  could  forget  her  depraved 
yearnings  after  carnal  things  she  found  the 
kindergarten  a  very  pleasant  place.  The 
children  understood  her  through  the  inartic 
ulate  language  of  childhood.  Little  blossoms 
of  Italian  began  to  adorn  the  English  of  Miss 
Martin  and  of  the  flippant  assistant.  Little 
sprigs  of  English  sprang  up  in  Concetta's 
soft  Tuscan.  And  to  make  the  close  bond 
between  school  life  and  the  home  which 
educators  advocate  and  teachers  suffer, 
Concetta's  mother  washed  curtains  and 
towels  for  Miss  Martin  and  did  sewing  for 
[271] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

Miss  Martin's  mother,  until  a  great  and 
mutual  admiration  bound  the  house  of  Sal- 
vatori  to  the  house  of  Martin. 

In  the  beginning  of  December,  Concetta 
Maddalena  Salvatori,  who  had  labored 
darkly  through  November  and  the  "  Thanks 
giving  Thought,"  around  which  all  true 
kindergartners  know  that  the  October  and 
November  suns  do  roll,  found  herself  in 
familiar  and  peaceful  waters.  Pumpkins, 
corn,  snowy  landscapes,  Puritans  in  queer 
costumes  but  accustomed  amity,  the  enticing 
and  deceptive  cranberry,  all  vanished  and 
gave  place  to  sweet-eyed  Madonnas  —  old 
favorites  of  Concetta's  and  associated  in 
her  memory  with  incense,  and  soft  bells, 
and  chanting  choirs,  arid  white-robed  pro 
cessions. 

Life  was  gradually  set  to  a  faster  and  yet 
:  .  .  .  [ 272  ] 


GIFTS     OF     THE     PHILOSOPHERS 

faster  measure.  Occupations  lost  their  sym 
bolic  nature  and  degenerated,  so  the  socio 
logical  assistant  noted  with  disgust,  into  the 
pasting  of  endless  chains  and  ornaments  for 
the  decoration  of  the  Christmas  tree.  There 
were  no  more  songs  of  dogs  and  fishes  and 
birds. 

The  pictures  on  the  wall  were  different, 
too.  They  showed  forth  in  distracting  repeti 
tion  a  stout  old  gentleman  with  a  very  red 
suit,  and  a  very  red  nose  to  match  it.  Con- 
cetta  was  told  that  this  person's  name  was 
Santa  Glaus.  In  vain  she  looked  for  the  halo 
of  sanctity  about  his  head,  for  the  calm  eyes, 
the  decorous  robes  of  her  own  familiar 
galaxy  of  saints.  In  vain,  too,  she  questioned 
her  mother  as  to  this  gentleman's  place  in 
the  Litany.  There  was  no  such  saint,  Mrs. 
Salvatori  maintained;  yet  there  were  his 
[273] 


WARDS     OF      LIBERTY 

pictures  all  about  the  kindergarten.  Between 
Abraham  Lincoln  and  Sir  Galahad,  between 
her  own  Madonna  and  the  flags  of  all  nations, 
between  the  Colossi  of  Memnon  and  George 
Washington,  this  new  saint  was  driving 
horses  with  ears  like  trees,  climbing  down 
chimneys,  looking  benignly  upon  sleeping 
children,  laughing,  winking,  scrambling  up 
the  side  of  the  house.  Never  had  the  bambina 
dreamed  of  such  undignified  sanctity ! 

It  was  yet  ten  or  twelve  days  before  the 
Christmas  of  the  calendar  when  the  change 
in  the  spirit  of  the  kindergarten  reached  its 
climax.  The  Christmas  celebration  of  the 
school  always  antedates  that  of  the  world. 
Concetta  arrived  one  morning  to  find  a  large 
tree  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  excitement 
and  desire  in  the  air.  If  she  had  been  in  time 
she  might  have  understood  that  Froebel's 
[274] 


GIFTS     OF     THE     PHILOSOPHERS 

definition  of  "gift"  was  to  be  superseded,  on 
this  one  occasion,  by  that  of  Webster.  But 
she  was  late,  and  the  distribution  of  presents 
had  already  begun  when  she  slipped  into  her 
place  in  the  circle;  and  to  her  the  treasures 
with  which  Miss  Martin  filled  her  lap  dif 
fered  only  in  attractiveness  from  the  other 
temptations  with  which  her  ways  had  been 
beset.  But  the  difference  was  great  and  hard 
to  resist,  for  in  her  arms  she  held  a  doll:  a 
smiling  doll  with  tiny  teeth,  a  large,  immov 
able  bonnet,  and  eyes  that  opened  and  shut. 
The  conscience  which  had  withstood 
Froebel's  whole  series,  which  had  passed 
unscathed  out  of  the  Derivative,  back  to 
the  Originative,  and  through  the  Point,  fell 
down  before  this  pink  and  white  bambina 
staring  so  pleasingly  with  her  wide  blue  eyes 
and  smelling  so  alluringly  of  fresh  glue  and 
[275] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

varnish  and  of  new  satine.  Other  toys  lay 
upon  the  floor,  but  Concetta  hardly  glanced  at 
them.  All  her  eyes  were  for  the  pink  bambina 
and  all  her  heart  was  in  her  eyes.  Stealthily 
she  left  her  place  in  the  circle;  stealthily  she 
crept  to  the  closet  and  found  her  gay  blue 
reefer ;  stealthily  she  buttoned  it  over  her  own 
fast-beating  heart  and  the  bambina's  change 
less  smile;  stealthily  she  reached  the  door  of 
the  school-room  and  escaped. 

"  Dagos  is  funny.  They  don't  know  what's 
polite,"  commented  Isidore  Lavinsky.  "She 
don't  say  'thanks'  nor  nothin'.  She  just 
scoots.  She  don't  takes  all  her  presents  even. 
Crazy  little  Dago!" 

"She  will  come  back  for  the  rest,"  the 
flippant  assistant  prophesied  while  the  socio 
logical   assistant   noted   "the   dawn   of   the 
mother-soul  in  C.  M.  S." 
[276] 


GIFTS     OF     THE     PHILOSOPHERS 

Mrs.  Salvatori  had  been  notified  of  the 
Christmas  holidays  and  was  quite  prepared 
for  Concetta's  refusal  to  go  to  school  on  the 
next  morning.  She  also  unhesitatingly  ac 
cepted  her  small  daughter's  announcement 
that  the  beautiful  bambina  with  the  eyes 
that  shut,  the  teeth  that  showed,  the  bonnet 
so  wide  and  so  immovable,  had  been  pre 
sented  by  Miss  Martin.  And  Concetta,  with 
a  theft  and  a  lie  upon  her  conscience,  loved 
the  smiling  cause  of  all  her  sinning  so  per 
sistently  and  so  demonstratively  that  the 
pink  bonnet  grew  dissipated  in  its  outline 
and  the  pink  skirt  limp  and  dowdy  in  its 
folds.  But  Concetta  saw  nothing  of  her  idol's 
waning  until,  under  the  stress  of  a  paroxysm 
of  affection,  the  bambina  shed  its  arms  and 
legs  and  drooped  its  head  forlornly  upon  an 
appalling  length  of  elastic  neck. 
[277] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

Then  wild  was  the  terror  of  Concetta 
Maddalena,  and  wild  her  attempts  to  rein 
carnate  her  joy.  All  vainly  and  all  sobbingly 
she  tried  to  recombine  the  fragments  of 
which,  moment  by  moment,  she  grew  more 
shudderingly  afraid.  Confession  brought  no 
assuagement  of  her  grief,  for  when  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Salvatori  understood  that  their  Con 
cetta  was  qualifying  for  prison  cells,  rather 
than  for  college  halls  or  convent  cloisters, 
they  fell  into  one  another's  arms  and  wept, 
nor  ceased  from  their  bewailings  until  the 
stairway  was  blocked  by  sympathizing  neigh 
bors.  And  thus  into  the  new-born  mother- 
soul  of  Concetta  the  world-old  mother-sor 
row  entered. 

On  the  evening  of  that  same  day  —  and  it 
was  Christmas  Eve  —  the  house  of  Martin 
was  in  festal  array.  Dinner  was  over,  the 
[278] 


GIFTS     OF     THE     PHILOSOPHERS 

tree  was  lighted,  and  the  small  nephews  and 
nieces  in  the  full  tide  of  enjoyment,  when 
Miss  Elizabeth  was  summoned  to  the  hall. 

Under  the  mistletoe  and  holly  she  found 
the  clan  of  Salvatori  gathered  in  a  dejected 
group.  The  mother  carried  a  tear-stained 
bambina.  The  father  carried  a  paper  bag. 
At  the  sight  of  Miss  Martin  in  a  soft  and 
low-necked  gown  of  white,  Concetta's  weep 
ing  broke  out  afresh.  She  was  prepared  to 
cling  for  comfort  and  forgiveness  to  the 
shirt-waisted  Miss  Martin  of  the  kindergar 
ten,  to  kneel  in  confession  and  repentance 
at  a  tailor-made  knee.  But  this  transforma 
tion  terrified  her.  In  deep  abasement  Pietro 
began  his  explanation,  while  Maria  Annun- 
ciata's  conflicting  love  and  anger  led  her 
alternately  to  soothe  and  slap  the  "ver 
smarta"  head  in  the  hollow  of  her  arm. 
[279] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

When  Concetta's  depravity  had  been  ex 
plained  and  mourned  Pietro  slowly  drew  out 
the  ghastly  sections  of  the  disintegrated  pink- 
robed  doll. 

And  Miss  Martin,  after  a  moment's  puzzle 
ment,  caught  the  bambina  from  Mrs.  Sal- 
vatori's  arms  and  fell  to  crooning  over  her 
and  to  rebuking  Mr.  Salvatori  in  one  in 
coherent  address : 

"Poor  little  baby,"  she  began,  "did  her 
nasty  old  teacher  give  her  a  nasty  old  break 
able  doll  ?  Nonsense,  Mr.  Salvatori,  Concetta 
never  would  steal.  And  did  she  come  to  her 
teacher  for  another  doll  ?  You  might  have 
guessed  that  it  was  a  present!  Well,  Miss 
Martin  will  give  her  a  much  better  doll,  with 
longer  curls  and  brighter  eyes,  and  clothes 
that  come  on  and  off.  I  should  have  expected 
you  to  know  your  own  child.  I  tell  you  she 
[280] 


GIFTS     OF     THE     PHILOSOPHERS 

is  as  honest  as  she  is  dear.  Come  and  see  the 
Christmas  tree,  darling,  and  get  some  more 
presents.  And  you  and  Mrs.  Salvatori  must 
come,  too.  There  are  presents  enough  here 
for  every  one. " 

But  Concetta  had  learned  her  lesson. 
\Yhen  the  joys  of  Heaven  had  been  showered 
upon  her  and  it  was  time  to  go  away,  she  laid 
her  treasures  at  Miss  Martin's  feet  and  en 
couraged  her  parents  to  do  likewise.  And 
suddenly  Miss  Martin  understood.  In  deep 
abasement  and  contrition  she  undid  the 
training  in  stoicism  to  which  she  had  devoted 
so  much  time.  She  even  persuaded  Concetta 
that  the  "Indian  giver"  attitude  was  not 
her  constant  one,  and  reduced  that  mysti 
fied  young  criminal  to  a  state  of  tremulous 
but  happy  puzzlement.  She  stood  upon  her 
threshold  and  watched  the  departure  of  her 
[281] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

guests,  and  when  they  had  disappeared,  still 
chattering  and  gesticulating,  she  apostro 
phized  the  land  of  stars  in  which  benign 
philosophers  may  be  supposed  to  dwell. 

"Herr  Froebel  oh,  Herr  Froebel!"  she 
sighed;  "we  have  made  a  dreadful  mistake, 
you  and  I.  Consider  what  we  have  done  to 
that  flower  of  a  baby.  But  you  didn't  know 
English,  I  don't  know  German,  neither  of  us 
knew  Italian,  and  which  of  us  could  ever 
hope  to  understand  the  heart  of  a  little 
child?" 


STAR  OF  BETHLEHEM 


STAR      OF     BETHLEHEM 

"Lord  God  of  Israel,  hear  my  wrongs,"  the 
rabbi  prompted;  "grant  me  vengeance  on  the 
accursed  Christian." 

"No,  grandpa;  I  don't  needs  I  should 
say  mine  wrongs  prayers,"  Isidore  pleaded; 
"I  don't  needs  them." 

"Recite  thy  wrongs,"  the  rabbi  com 
manded;  "stand  upright  and  begin." 

"  '  Lord  God  of  Israel,  hear  my  wrongs, ' 
Isidore  began  in  measured  and  sonorous 
Hebrew.  "  'Let  thine  ear  be  attentive  and 
thine  arm  swift  to  avenge.  Look  down  upon 
thy  servant  and  mark  his  suffering.  Out  of 
the  town  of  a  far  country  where  we  dwelt  in 
[285] 


WARPS      OF     LIBERTY 

love  and  peace  with  all  men,  out  of  the  tem 
ple  where  my  grandfather  spent  the  years  of 
his  long  life,  out  of  the  house  wherein  my 
mother  was  born  and  wherein  she  bore  me, 
away  from  the  friends  who  loved  us,  away 
from  the  friends  we  loved,  the  tyrant  drove 
us.  We  came  to  the  tyrant's  land.  Behold, 
there  was  no  other  place.  With  curses  they 
received  us;  with  indignities  they  welcomed 
us.  And  my  mother  -  '  Rabbi  Meirkoff 
covered  his  eyes  with  one  long  thin  hand 
and  half  sobbed,  half  groaned,  "Thy  mo 
ther!"  Always  at  this  point  in  the  "wrongs 
prayers"  he  did  these  things,  and  Isidore, 
understanding  as  little  of  what  he  was  saying 
as  many  another  six-year-old  understands  of 
the  Lord's  Prayer,  regarded  this  interrup 
tion  as  essential  to  the  proceedings.  So  he 
resumed : 

[286] 


STAR      OF     BETHLEHEM 

'My  mother,  the  only  child  and  daugh 
ter  of  this  old  man,  they  carried  off  to  be 
their  plaything  for  such  time  as  her  beauty 
should  endure.  My  father  they  foully  slew, 
and  there  remains  of  our  ancient  house  a 
man  too  old  for  vengeance  and  a  child  too 
young.  Cast,  then,  thine  eyes  upon  me,  and 
hasten  the  day  of  my  strength.'  Now  can  I 
go  by  the  block  ?" 

'Yea,"  said  the  rabbi,  weakly;  for  no 
repetition  could  dull  the  agony  which,  at 
each  newr  recital  of  his  wrongs,  tore  his  tired 
old  heart  with  savage  hatred  and  black 
despair.  Each  evening  Isidore  dragged  him 
again  through  the  scenes  of  that  night  whose 
evening  left  him  in  his  stately  library  sur 
rounded  by  his  books  and  by  his  little  family, 
and  whose  morning  found  him  with  other 
fugitives  fleeing  toward  the  frontier,  a  crying 
[287] 


"The  Block" 


STAR     OF      BETHLEHEM 

child  beneath  his  cloak  and  a  great  fear  in  all 
his  being.  Five  years  had  passed  since  then, 
and  he  was  still  afraid;  still  dazed;  still,  too 
often,  hungry. 

"Can  I  go  by  the  block  ?"  asked  Isidore. 

"If  thou  wilt  shun  the  oppressor,  hold 
no  communion  with  him,  and  touch  not  of 
his  food.  And  woe  to  them  upon  whom  that 
monster  of  fire  and  flame  which  they  call 
fire-engine  comes  suddenly!  Go  now,  and 
with  my  blessing." 

Isidore  clattered  out  into  the  squalid  hall 
and  a  door  at  the  farther  end  opened  cau 
tiously.  With  a  rapturous  chuckle  he  threw 
himself  into  the  darkness  beyond  it  and  was 
caught  in  a  close  embrace. 

"Boy  of  my  heart,"  whispered  a  fond 
old  voice,  "how  are  you  to-night  ?" 

"I'm  healthy,"  Isidore  replied  as  his 
[289] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

hostess  closed  the  door  and  lighted  an  inch- 
long  candle  which  shone  upon  them  redly 
from  the  cracked  sides  of  what  had  once  been 
a  sanctuary  lamp.  "  I'm  healthy  and  I  guess 
I  goes  by  the  block. " 

"Is  it  like  that  you'd  go  ?"  Mrs.  Keating 
demanded.  "I'll  have  to  wash  your  face 
first." 

"But  you  washed  it  yesterday,"  the  boy 
objected.  "I  don't  needs  you  shall  wash 
it  some  more." 

"Then  you  can't  go  out,"  said  she. 

"Then  I'll  stay  in,  "said  he. 

Which  was  exactly  what  Mrs.  Keating 
desired. 

They  spent  a  delightful  evening:  one  of 

many,  many  such.  The  hostess  entertained 

the  guest  with  reminiscences  of  far-off  days 

in  Connemara  when  her  heart  and  her  life 

[290] 


STAR     OF      BETHLEHEM 

were  young.  She  was  a  relic  of  the  time  when 
East  Broadway  and  all  its  environs  had  been 
a  prosperous  Irish  quarter,  and  the  years 
which  had  changed  these  stately  homes  to 
squalid  tenements  had  changed  her:  once 
the  gracious  mistress  of  one  of  them:  to 
the  worn  and  fragile  sweeper  of  St.  Mary's 
Church. 

"My  mother,"  she  told  the  boy,  "was  a 
lovely  girl;  her  hair  was  as  black  as  the  night, 
and  her  eyes  were  as  blue  as  the  sky." 

"Mine  mama  had  from  the  gold  hair," 
the  guest  interrupted,  "mine  grandpa  he 
tells  me.  From  the  gold  hair,  mit  curls.  On'y 
somethings  comes  by  nights  and  takes  my 
mama  away." 

"The  saints  preserve  us!  What  kind  of  a 
thing?" 

"I  don't  know  what  kind  from  a  thing 
[291] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

he  was.  I  don't  know  the  name  from  him 
out  of  English;  on'y  he  kills  my  papa,  and 
he  takes  away  my  mama,  and  he  hits  my 
grandpa  a  fierce  hack.  I  guess  maybe  he 
had  looks  off  the  fire-engines.  My  grandpa 
he  has  a'  awful  fraid  over  fire-engines." 

Mrs.  Keating  crossed  herself  devoutly. 
"And  it  was  walking  around  alone?"  she 
asked. 

"Walkin'  andyellin'." 

"And  it  never  touched  you  ?" 

"It  ain't  seen  me;  I  sneaks  behind  my 
papa  where  he  lays  on  the  floor;  they  had 
a  fraid  from  him,  and  while  he  was  dead, 
blood  comes  out  of  him.  It  goes  on  mine 
dress.  That's  what  my  grandpa  says." 

"That's  right,  my  dear;  that's  right," 
said  the  old  woman.  "Your  dress  was  stiff 
with  it  when  I  found  you." 


STAR     OF     BETHLEHEM 

"Tell  me  about  how  you  found  me  some 
more,"  Isidore  pleaded;  "it  is  a'  awful  nice 
story." 

"Well,  I  will,"  Mrs.  Keating  promised. 
"But  first  I  must  show  you  what  I've  got 
for  you.  I  found  it  when  I  was  sweeping 
the  church."  And  she  bestowed  upon  him 
a  limp  and  shrunken  paper  bag  containing 
six  peanuts.  As  he  rested  happily  on  her 
knee  and  consumed  this  light  refreshment, 
she  began  the  story  of  which  he,  being  the 
hero,  never  tired. 

"It  is  five  years  ago  this  December,  on 
a  snowy  night  just  like  this,  that  I  found 
you  crying  in  the  next  room.  You  were  all 
alone  and  very  cold." 

"Und  I  had  a  mad,"  the  subject  of  this 
biography  added  with  a  chastened  pride. 

"You  were  as  cross  as  two  sticks,"  said 
[293] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

his  friend;  "and  you  were  dirty,  and  your 
dress  was  torn,  and  - 

"It  had  blood  from  off  my  papa  ?" 

"Well,  I  didn't  mind  any  of  those  things; 
I  wanted  a  little  boy,  and  I  was  glad  to  get 
him  —  glad  to  get  even  a  dirty  little  boy." 

Isidore's  sensitive  face  flushed  and  his 
lip  quivered.  This  was  a  digression  and  not 
at  all  to  his  mind. 

"I  was  a  baby,"  he  urged;  "a  little  bit 
of  baby.  I  couldn't  to  wash  mine  self,  und 
mine  grandpa  he  had  a  sad." 

"Dear  heart,  that's  a  joke.  I  was  only  too 
glad  to  see  you.  You  were  as  welcome  as  the 
flowers  of  May;  and  I  picked  you  up  and 
brought  you  here,  where  I  had  everything 
ready  for  you,  because  I  knew  that  you  were 
coming.  I  had  waited  years  for  you.  I  had 
prayed  to  Holy  Mary  for  you." 
[294] 


STAR     OF     BETHLEHEM 

"  Holy-Marv-Mother-Mild,"  said  Isidore, 
devoutly. 

"'Mother  of  God,'  I  used  to  pray  to  her, 
'you  see  that  I  am  lonely;  you  know  that 
empty  arms  can  ache.  Send  me  something 
to  take  care  of ;  send  me  - 

"And    she    sent    you    kittens,"    the    en 
thralled    audience    interrupted.    "She    sent 
six  crawly  kittens  mitout  no  eyes  and  mit 
whiskers  by  the  face.  She  was  awful  good." 

"The  woman  on  the  next  floor  was  moving 
and  gave  them  to  me.  But  they  soon  grew 
up,  and  I  was  as  badly  off  as  ever." 

"So  you  prayed  some  more,"  he  said. 

"I  did,  indeed;  and  Mary  - 

"Holy-Mary-Mother-Mild,"  he  again  in 
sisted. 

"  Send  me  a  little  boy  to  take  care  of." 

"Und  you  lays  me  on  your  bed,  und  you 
[295] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

gives  me  I  should  eat,  und  you  makes  me 
I  should  sleep,  und  by  mornings  comes  my 
grandpa  mit  fierce  mads." 

"Glory  be  to  God!  he  was  the  maddest 
thing  I  ever  saw;  I  thought  he  would  have 
had  a  fit.  First  he  cried  over  you,  and  then 
he  cursed  me  —  I  didn't  understand  a  word 
he  said,  but  I  knew  by  the  look  of  him  —  until 
he  was  as  weak  as  a  kitten." 

"  On'y  Holy-Mary-Mother-Mild  ain't  sent 
him  ?"  the  boy  interposed  again. 

"Indeed,  she  did  not.  And  then  he  took 
you  away  into  the  next  room  and  warned 
me  —  I  didn't  understand  a  word  he  said, 
but  I  knew  by  the  look  of  him  —  never  to 
go  near  you  or  to  touch  you  again." 

"  And  it  makes  mit  you  nothings  ?  "  laughed 
the  boy. 

"Nothing  at  all;  when  he  was  out  I'd 
[296] 


STAR     OF     BETHLEHEM 

go  and  take  care  of  you  and  feed  you  and 
dress  you  in  the  little  shirts  and  things  I 
made  you  out  of  Father  Burke's  old  sur 
plice  and  the  tail  of  Father  Jerome's  cassock. 
And  your  grandfather,  poor  old  gentleman ! 
so  queer  in  his  head  and  so  wild  in  his  ways, 
walked  up  and  down  Grand  Street  all  day 
long  —  a  sandwich-man,  God  help  him !  - 
and  came  home  too  tired  to  notice  the  clothes 
that  were  on  you  or  to  ask  where  they  came 
from." 

"He  never  says  nothings  on'y  prayers," 
said  Isidore,  sadly.  "All  times  he  says  pray 
ers.  I  don't  know  what  he  says  —  they  is  out 
of  Jewish;  on'y  they  makes  him  awful  mad." 

"  Dearie,  you  mustn't  bother  him  when  he's 
like  that.  Just  try  to  take  care  of  him,  like  a 
good  boy.  Because  if  you're  a  good  boy  now 
you'll  grow  up  to  be  a  good  man." 
[297] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

"Und  I'll  go  and  kill  that  thing  what  kills 
my  papa  und  steals  my  mama  away  —  my 
mama  what  had  from  the  gold  hair,  und  a 
light  face,  und  was  loving  so  much  mit  my 
grandpa  und  mit  me." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Keating,  "you 
must  kill  the  beast  —  and  oh,  it  must  be  a 
cruel  beast  to  harm  a  lovely  lady!  I  know 
she  was  a  lovely  lady,"  she  explained  as  she 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  golden  head  and 
turned  his  beautiful  little  face  up  to  her  own 
loving  one;  "I  know  she  was  lovely  because 
a  little  bird  told  me  so." 

"I  guess  she  was,"  Isidore  agreed,  "the 
while  she  was  loving  much  mit  us  und  my 
grandpa  was  loving  much  mit  her;  her  name 
stands  like  that  Leah,  und  all  times  my 
grandpa  he  makes  prayers  over  it.  By  times 
he  makes  sad  prayers  over  it;  by  times  he 
[298] 


STAR      OF      BETHLEHEM 

makas  mad  prayers  over  it;  by  times  he  don't 
says  no  prayers  at  all,  on'y  '  Leah,  Leah, 
Leah!'  My  poor  grandpa!  He  has  it  pretty 
hard." 

"He  has,  indeed,"  said  the  hostess;  "and 
he'll  be  no  better  as  long  as  the  beast  lives. 
So  you  must  grow  as  strong  and  as  fast  as 
you  can,  and  then  go  home  and  kill  it.  And 
you'll  never  grow  at  all  if  you  stay  up  late 
like  this,  talking  to  a  foolish  old  woman.  So 
come  and  say  the  prayer  I  taught  you,  and 
then  go  to  bed.  But  first  I'll  light  the  altar." 

Isidore  helped  her;  it  was  his  greatest 
joy,  this  little  altar  whose  foundation  was 
a  three-legged  table  and  whose  crowning 
glory  was  a  much  defaced  and  faded  but 
still  beautiful  copy  of  a  Raphael  Madonna. 
There  were  other  holy  pictures  of  lesser  size, 
several  cracked  red-glass  bowls,  some  broken 
[299] 


WARDS      OF      LIBERTY 

vases,  a  paper  flower  or  so,  a  spray  of  dried 
grass,  bits  of  tinsel  and  scraps  of  lace-edged 
linen. 

Isidore  was  supplied  with  a  broken- 
spirited  taper  and  spent  five  minutes  of 
reverent  joy  in  lighting  the  innumerable 
candle-ends  which  his  hostess  had  fixed  to 
pieces  of  broken  china  or  to  circles  of  tin 
cut  from  the  tops  of  corn-  and  tomato-cans. 

Then  the  tinsel  shone,  the  linen  gleamed, 
the  red-glass  glowed,  and  the  gentle-eyed 
Madonna  looked  down  upon  a  little  face 
as  fair  and  as  pure  as  that  resting  against 
her  breast,  as  Isidore  knelt  before  her  to  say 
his  evening  prayer : 

Gentle  Jesus,  meek  and  mild, 
Look  on  me,  a  little  child; 
Pity  mine  and  pity  me, 
And  suffer  me  to  come  to  thee 

[300] 


STAR      OF      BETHLEHEM 

At  the  door  he  turned.  "Good-night, 
dear  Lady-Friend,"  said  he;  and  then,  to 
the  painted  family  over  the  altar,  "Good 
night,  Holy-Mary-Mother-Mild;  good-night, 
Gentle- Jesus- Meek-and -Mild."  "Mild"  he 
had  decided  was  the  surname  of  the  holy 
family. 

Upon  his  return  to  his  own  room  Isidore 
was  greeted  by  his  grandfather's  sad  eyes 
and  the  constant  question,  "Thou  hast  held 
no  communion  with  the  oppressor?" 

"No,  grandpa,"  answered  Isidore;  "I 
ain't  seen  him  even." 

"There  is  time,"  said  the  Rabbi  Meir- 
koff;  "thou  art  as  yet  too  young.  But  the 
God  of  Israel  will  grant  thee  vengeance.  For 
has  He  not  written,  *  An  eye  for  an  eye,  and 
a  tooth  for  a  tooth '  ?  Aye,  but  what  for  such 
wrongs  as  ours  ?" 

[301] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

"Boy  of  my  heart,"  said  Mrs.  Keating 
some  mornings  later,  when  Isidore  knocked 
at  her  door,  "is  the  old  gentleman  gone  ?" 

"Sure  he  is,"  answered  Isidore;  "he  puts 
him  on  mit  them  boards  and  he  goes  by 
Grand  Street.  He  won't  never  let  me  put 
me  on  mit  boards.  I  likes  I  shall  wear  them. 
Und  my  grandpa  he  don't  likes  he  wear 
them.  He  has  a  fraid  over  the  streets.  He 
likes  he  shall  sit  where  no  noises  und  no 
peoples  is.  He  has  it  pretty  hard." 

"  God  be  good  to  him,  indeed  he  has.  A 
sandwich  man  afraid  of  the  streets  and  want 
ing  a  little  bit  of  quiet  to  end  his  days  in. 
The  saints  pity  him !  But  I  have  a  treat  for 
you,  my  darling,  to-day.  I'm  going  over  to 
the  church  to  help  with  the  crib  and  I'm 
going  to  take  you  with  me.  You  will  be  good 
and  quiet  won't  you  ?" 

[302] 


STAR     OF     BETHLEHEM 

"Sure  will  I,"  said  Isidore  in  his  un 
changing  form  of  assent,  and  he  began  to 
be  quiet  and  good  upon  the  instant.  He  sat 
upon  a  cushion  which  once  had  graced  a 
prie-dieu  and  still  smelt  faintly  of  dead  in 
cense  while  his  friend  bonneted  and  shawled 
herself.  He  loved  the  church.  To  his  mind, 
the  only  place  approaching  it  in  attractive 
ness  was  a  stable,  two  blocks  away,  where  a 
dejected  horse  and  three  dejected  dogs  lived 
in  peace  and  unison  with  a  dejected  pedlar. 
They  were  all  his  friends,  though  Mrs. 
Keating  frowned  upon  the  intimacy. 

But  of  the  church  she  approved  and  in 
the  church  he  was  happy.  The  peace,  the 
coolness,  the  spaciousness  of  it  appealed  to 
the  innate  refinement  of  his  little  soul.  The 
mystery  of  its  dim-lit  arches,  its  high  gal 
leries  and  choir,  its  sometimes  sounding 
[303] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

organ,  and  its  one  high  lamp  pleased  the 
poet  in  him.  And  everything  interested 
the  boy  he  was.  But  most  of  all  he  loved  the 
flowers.  The  only  other  flowers  he  knew 
were  in  a  florist's  window  with  cold  glass 
interposed  between  them  and  their  small 
lover.  But  in  the  church  were  less  distant 
flowers,  and  one  might  touch  them,  smell 
them,  fondle  them,  if  one  was  so  fortunate 
as  to  have  a  Lady-Friend  whose  privilege 
it  was  to  dust  the  altar.  Also  there  was  a  bell 
—  a  wonderful  bell  three  stories  high  and  of 
an  entrancing  brightness  —  and  from  it  one 
might  extract  booming  responses  with  a  small 
tight  knuckle  when  the  attention  of  one's 
Lady-Friend  was  centered  upon  dusty  cush 
ions. 

But   to-day   there   were   other   things    to 
watch  and  to  wonder  at.  There  were  lights 
[304] 


STAR      OF      BETHLEHEM 

and  people  inside  the  high  gold  railing  which 
separated  the  altar  from  the  common  ground. 
A  noise  of  hammering  echoed  strangely 
through  the  silence  which  had  never  in  his 
experience  been  disturbed  save  by  the  distant 
jangle  of  a  horse-car  or  the  rumble  of  a  truck. 
And  when  Isidore's  dazzled  eyes  grew  clear 
he  saw  that  the  small  altar  where  Holy- 
Mary-Mother-Mild  had  always  stood  had 
undergone  a  transformation.  It  was  no  longer 
an  altar:  it  was  a  stable.  And  Isidore  was 
very  glad,  for  his  Lady-Friend  could  never 
again  object  to  his  visits  to  the  pedlar,  the 
dejected  horse,  and  the  three  dejected  dogs; 
since  here  was  the  whole  heavenly  choir  as 
sembled  in  a  barn,  benignly  associating  with 
a  very  small,  very  large-eared  horse,  a  wide- 
horned  cow,  and  three  woolly  lambs.  Holy- 
Mary-Mother-Mild,  discarding  her  crown 
[305] 


WARDS     OF      LIBERTY 

and  lily,  had  come  down  from  her  pedestal 
to  kneel  beside  the  manger.  Behind  her  stood 
Holy- Joseph-Father-Mild;  while  three  other 
gentlemen  whom  Isidore  knew  to  be  saints 
because  they  wore  "  like  ladies  clothes  and 
from  the  gold  somethings  on  their  heads," 
offered  gifts  of  price.  Two  long-winged 
angels  knelt  at  the  end  of  the  manger,  and  in 
it,  lying  on  shining  straw,  was  Gentle-Jesus- 
Meek-and-Mild.  Isidore  was  entranced. 
Mrs.  Keating  opened  the  golden  gate  and 
led  him  into  the  quiet  group  of  adorers, 
where  he  knelt  as  reverently  as  any  one  of 
them  and  looked  as  much  a  part  of  the  pic 
ture.  His  Lady-Friend  knelt  by  his  side,  and 
they  said  their  prayers  together,  while  high 
above  them  the  great  star  of  Bethlehem 
shone  with  an  unsteady  luster. 

Now  the  star  of  Bethlehem  was  used  only 
[306] 


STAR  OF  BP:THLEHEM 
on  great  festivals  and  its  attachment  was  in 
secure.  As  Isidore  and  Mrs.  Keating  prayed, 
a  decorator  at  the  main  altar  threw  a  heavy- 
green  garland  over  the  high-hung  gas-pipe 
which  crossed  the  chancel.  There  was  a 
quick  cry  of  warning  and  Isidore  looked  up 
in  time  to  see  that  the  star  of  Bethlehem  had 
broken  loose  and  his  dear  Friend  was  in 
peril.  The  heavy  blazing  iron  crashed  down 
upon  her  thin  shoulders  but  Isidore's  little 
body  bore  the  brunt. 

Some  hours  later  he  opened  his  eyes  upon 
the  scene  of  all  his  joy  and  cherishment. 
Holy-Mary-Mother-Mild  smiled  down  upon 
him  from  her  accustomed  frame  and  he  lay 
in  his  Lady-Friend's  arms. 

"Boy    of   my   heart,"    she   greeted   him, 
"you  shouldn't  have  done  it." 
[307] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

"It  was  polite,"  he  said.  "Stars  on  the 
neck  ain't  healthy  for  you,  und  so  I  catches 
it.  Qn'y  say,  it  makes  me  a  sickness. " 

"Go  to  sleep,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Keat 
ing.  "Shut  your  pretty  eyes  and  go  to 
sleep." 

Obediently  Isidore  closed  them,  and  then 
suddenly  reminded  her: 

"  I  ain't  said  mine  prayers. " 

"Say  them,  then,  sweetheart,"  she  hu 
mored  him.  And,  when  he  had  reconciled 
himself  to  a  stiff  unresponsiveness  of  his 
body  which  forbade  his  kneeling  or  even 
folding  his  hands,  he  turned  his  face  to  the 
lights  and  began: 

Gentle  Jesus,  meek  and  mild. 
Look  on  me,  a  little  child; 
Pity  mine  and  pity  me, 
And  suffer  me  to  come  to  thee. 

[308] 


STAR      OF      BETHLEHEM 

"To  come  to  thee!"  Mrs.  Keating  echoed. 
"  Dear  God  to  come  to  thee ! " 

"Und  now,"  said  Isidore,  after  some 
pause,  "I  guess  I  says  mine  wrongs  pray 
ers,"  and  addressed  the  Lady  of  the 
altar  in  the  tongue  which  had  been  hers 
in  the  days  of  her  white  virginity  at  Naza 
reth: 

'  Lord  God  of  Israel,  hear  my  wrongs ! 
Grant  me  vengeance  upon  the  accursed 
Christian!  We  came  unto  their  land.  With 
curses  they  received  us;  with  indignities 
they  welcomed  us  - 

"Go  to  sleep,  my  darling,"  crooned  his 
Lady-Friend  and  kissed  him.  "You  can 
finish  your  prayers -- later. " 

And  presently  she  laid  him  —  quite  still 
-among   the   lights   and   the   paper  flow 
ers  on  the  altar  of  that  faith  whose  symbol 
[309] 


WARDS     OF     LIBERTY 

had  crushed  him,  whose  perversion  had 
crushed  his  people,  but  whose  truth  had 
made  all  the  happiness  which  his  short  life 
had  known. 


THE    END 


[310] 


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